Ithílwyn
by RobinInARowanTree
Summary: The Third Marshal of the Riddermark is a man haunted by grief, death and sorrow. Unwilling to share his emotions, he becomes a hard man, slow to smile and quick to frown. But then he meets a woman in the woods, who seeks with all her heart to teach him otherwise. Story takes place before the war, during and after.
1. Ithílwyn

Chapter 1

Ithílwyn

It had happened in such a short time that she could hardly believe it was her village now alight with angry fires. She could still hear the screams of terror ringing in her ear as the villagers made their escape. Her sister's husband had pushed the two of them out the door and shouted at them to run while the men drew whatever arms they possessed to allow the women and children to flee the village. Remembering that her sister had been crying as she dragged her out of the small house they lived in, she looked frantically for her. In terror she watched as her village went up in flames, people running in all directions as deformed and hideous creatures with swords and spears raise their arms victoriously. She stood at the edge of the forest and saw her sister running slowly towards her. Her eyes were wild and frantic and she gestured at her to run.

"Run, Millie run!" she heard her sister scream hysterically behind her. "Quickly! Hurry, I will come for you soon, just run Millie!" Panicking, she ran straight into the forest and did not look back. The branches of the trees tore at the sleeves of her dress as she ran deeper and deeper into the woods. Her tears were streaming down her face and her feet were crisscrossed with scratches and cuts. Even though her muscles were sore and her chest was heaving from exertion, she did not stop until she realized she was alone. She turned around and saw only trees. Her sister and her husband were nowhere in sight.

"Lia!" she screamed. Where was her sister? It was dark and cold in the forest and she was so tired. where was Lia? She should be here already. Her hands started shaking. She screamed her sister's name again. And again and again until her throat was sore. She tried to run back to where she came from and got herself helplessly lost. Every tree looked similar and there was no path to guide her way. Overwhelmed and exhausted, she slumped down to her knees as she screamed her sister's name one last time and fainted.

When she awoke, it was bright and sunny. Her eyes squinted as she adjusted to the light. Her entire body felt sore as she tried to sit up. To her shock she had slept on the forest floor and her dress was now hanging off her body in dirty, ragged strips. Slowly and painfully she got to her feet and wobbled before catching her balance. "Lia" she croaked, her throat hoarse and painful. Only trees and leaves were all she saw. "Lia!" she yelled in the loudest voice she could possibly muster. She started to cry. She saw her village burning in her memory .Her sister's husband, Wydhere who shouted furiously at them to leave before kissing his wife on the lips. Her sister telling her to head for the forest with tears in her eyes. Telling her to run and not help her up when she had tripped over a dead man. She remembered her sister behind her, screaming and shouting at her not to look back, that she was coming to get her. Yet, she was all alone in the forest. She cried until she could cry no longer and took time to calm herself down. She wiped her cheeks and her nose and wondered what she was to do. She decided that she would go look for her sister and stood back up on her feet shakily. She moved slowly, her legs were sore and her hands and arms were stinging from an assortment of cuts and bruises. She held onto the tree trunks with trembling hands as she moved forward until the sun blazed down on her back. Her small exhausted body gave way as she slumped to the floor. "Must. Find. Lia," she croaked through half-lidded eyes. The forest was turning blurry as she tried to stand up again. Her body would not follow her will and she fell against the tree. Her eyes closed and she fell asleep.

* * *

Finríel was struggling with a stubborn root that refused to be pulled out of the ground. Stubbornly she held on and tugged on. It came loose, sending her backwards and onto her back. She _hmph_ed at the root and placed it in her basket filled with other leaves, flower heads and various tree barks. She saw the sun setting in the west and decided that she had gathered enough herbs for that day and made her way back to her cosy cave. She had been occupied, wondering what she was going to cook for her evening meal,that she certainly did not expect to see a girl sprawled at the base of a rowan tree. She was not known for interfering and she hesitated, hovering over the pathetic child. But decided in the end that she should at least make sure the girl was well before leaving her sprawled. The girl was absolutely not well. Her dark hair had twigs and leaves woven into it. Her lips were dry and bruised and her fair face had several cuts and bruises. Her dress was in tatters and Finríel supposed if she gave it a small tug, it would come unravelling off her thin body. The girl's arms and legs were badly cut and scratched and she wondered how this girl came to this predicament. She sighed out of compassion and out of slight irritation, knowing that she had to help the girl even though it would mean interfering with another's business. Where were the girl's parents? She breathed in and exhaled and placed her basket down. She lifted the girl onto her back, letting out a muffled groan in the process. Finríel was not young anymore and the girl was not light even though she had a deceptively thin frame. She sighed, knowing that she would have to come back again for those herbs.

The girl shivered and Finríel knew she was going to be sick. How long had the girl been lying against the tree? She muffled another groan and walked as fast as she could. She nearly dumped the girl on the cave floor when she arrived, exhausted as she was. She laid the girl on her sleeping furs and placed her near the fireplace which was a fairly rectangular shaped hole in the ground. It made cooking easier for Finríel especially as she could boil more than one pot at one time. She covered the shivering girl with three blankets and touched her forehead. "_Her fever is bad"_, she thought and sighed. Finríel began preparing a tea for her fever. After settling a pot of water to boil, she took a cloth and a large bowl of water and tended to the girl's wounds. She pitied this lost girl, who was alone and in pain. "You are very fortunate that I found you," she reminded the girl whom she judged to be about eight or nine years old of age. The water boiled and she added her own mixture of herbs to the boiling water. She returned to washing the wounds and had to dress the girl in one of her own dresses. It did not fit her well but it would have to do for the time being. Finríel was plump and the girl was stick thin. After bandaging the more serious wounds, she tried to comb the leaves and twigs out of the girl's dark hair. She wondered why a Rohirric girl would have such a fine mass of dark hair as they were usually blond, with the occasional red hair. "You have dark hair too," she reminded herself but she knew she wasn't Rohirric. Her hair was soft and the twigs and the leaves came out easily after a few tugs and combs. She fed the tea to the girl slowly and laid her down on the furs again. She sighed. If the girl was strong, she would make it. She tried hard not to think about digging a grave. Her stomach rumbled in complaint and she began preparing a meal for herself.

She took a few potatoes she had dug up yesterday and some skinned rabbit meat she had in her larder and placed them in a clay pot. After adding herbs, water and salt, she closed the lid and placed it inside her fireplace, trying to bake the rabbit. The moon was full that night and it shone through her cave entrance. It settled on the girl who was sleeping peacefully. To Finríel, her skin seemed to shine in the moonlight. Her pale face had a shiny lustre to it and Finríel could not help herself but stare at the girl's face a while, and thought to herself that this girl would grow up to be beautiful indeed. She really did not resemble a Rohirric girl in any way. She was pale and fair while they had sunny complexions. She was also of a slightly smaller build than most of the girls. She wondered who her parents were and if this girl even belonged to this land. The smell of a baking rabbit caught Finríel's attention and she gave in to her hungry stomach. She ate half, intending to give some to the girl later. She went to check on her pile of dirty clothes, wondering if she needed to wash them soon. She returned to the front of her cave where she found the girl sitting up and sobbing.

"Do not cry, little one" she told the girl, moving to her side. The girl looked up at her with dark eyes. "You are safe here," she added in a comforting tone. She wondered if the girl spoke Rohirric. Awkwardly, Finríel wrapped her arms around her. The girl remained stiff at first and Finríel wondered if her action was welcome. Eventually she felt two hands at her back. She began to stroke the girl's soft hair. "What is your name?" she asked. The girl made no reply and continued sobbing into her shoulder. "It does not matter now," she gently chided. She helped the girl up and wiped the tears from her face. "Come and have dinner," she invited. The girl nodded and rubbed at her eyes. Finríel went to the clay pot and ladled out the baked rabbit into a bowl. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the girl staring at the fireplace as if she had not seen one before. She wondered how the girl felt, trapped in a strange cave with an old woman she did not know. She handed the bowl over to the girl who said nothing but ate hungrily. She ate another two bowls before she let out a tiny burp which she had the manners to cover her mouth with her hand.

"Thank you for the meal." Finríel was surprised. She turned around to face the girl who was wrapped up in a blanket, looking bashful.

"You are welcome," she replied with a small smile.

After dinner, she enlisted her new charge to clean the bowls and pots whilst she prepared another dose of the medicinal tea for her. Colour had crept back into the girl's cheeks and she looked healthier already. She still looked tired from her scuffle with the tree branches and after the tea was ready, Finríel gave her a good dose of it and made her lie back down on the sleeping furs. After a while, the girl's breathing became even and Finríel exhaled in relief. She watched the girl sleeping and wondered why she felt a connection to her. She kissed the girl on the forehead and sighed. She was beautiful as she slept. It was strange having company in her cave. How long has it been now that she had been alone?

The next day Finríel awoke to an empty cave. She sat up abruptly and felt the muscles in her arms hurt from carrying the girl back to her cave the day before. She stood up, ignoring the protests of her muscles and wondered where the girl had gone to. She stepped out her cave and found the girl bringing back wood. "For the fire," she explained in a small voice. Surprised, Finríel did not say a word and merely nodded. After a simple meal of stale bread, cheese and berries, where the girl did not say a word and made it a very uncomfortable situation for the both of them to be in, Finríel asked the girl if she wanted to go look for anyone or anything.

"My sister," she replied almost immediately and started to tear up. She nodded and asked the girl where her sister was. Through teary eyes the girl explained without meeting Finríel's gaze that she had gotten lost and she did not remember her name nor the name of the village but that it was burnt down by enemies of Rohan. She only remembered that the south of the village faced the forest. Finríel thought she knew. "Why don't we spend the day to find your sister?" she asked and gave a comforting smile. The girl nods and gives a small smile much to Finríel's delight.

Through the woods she led her: over moss covered stones and small singing streams, through thick green foliage and under the leafy boughs of the trees. Until they reached what Finríel suspected to be her village. The sight and smell of the burnt and destroyed village made Finríel fear for the girl as she could not see the girl giving a positive reaction. Indeed the girl began to sob as she watched her home fade into non-existence. She screamed for her sister but there was no reply. "There is no one here," Finríel said softly, more to herself than to the girl. The girl ran in the direction of the village but Finríel stopped her. "No. Don't do that, it will hurt you where it is hardest to heal." The girl became limp as Finríel enveloped her in an embrace. They stayed there for a while, Finríel standing with her arms around the distraught and distressed girl.

"My sister," she whimpered. The woman's face fell. How was she to tell the child that there was a great chance that she would not meet her sister again?

"I am afraid you are the sole survivor, dear girl. I do not see how those brutal beasts would have left any alive or uncaptured." The child burst into sobs at the loss of her home, her family.

"I want my sister, she promised to come to take me with her," the girl said as she wiped her teary eyes, her face turning red at her distress. "I have no home," she whined through pants and gasps as tears begin to stain Finríel's dress. "Dear heart, do not cry," she comforted, rubbing the girl's back. "I know you would much rather have your sister be with you, but I am afraid she will not be here. You can stay with me in the cave, if you want," she offered before she understood what it would mean. The girl looked up at her with teary and confused eyes. "I will love you and care for you as a daughter." Finríel wondered if she was herself today. For years she had lived a life of solitude with no complain and in haste she was willing to adopt a lost girl?

"I never had a mother," she said, evidently surprised that Finríel had offered her such a thing.

"You do now," Finríel said in a practical tone and smiled at her. The girl smiled back despite her tears and gave Finríel an unexpected hug. "Let us head back." The girl gave one last longing look at her village and took the hand Finríel offered with a mournful expression.

"I think you need a name," Finriel suggested light heartedly, trying to get the girl to smile again.

"I wish I remembered what it was," the girl added wistfully and sighed. Finríel saw that she was going to shed more tears and because she did not want the child's face to turn swollen and red again, she suggested, "You could always have a new name." The girl looked up at her in surprise. "You have a new home, new family, I think you are in need of a new name too." The girl looked serious but a while later she spoke up.

"I think you are right," she said in a voice that showed no emotion.

"Hmm," Finríel began, thinking of a name. "How about Ithílwyn?" she suggested.


	2. Rider of the Rohirrim

**So, for the second chapter I wanted to write about their life in Edoras and also include a short part about Éomund and Théodwyn because I'm sure they must have loved each other very much and this brainfart came upon me and I wrote a little snippet about their courtship. Thanks for reading! I would really appreciate any comments, questions, reviews and constructive criticism.**

* * *

Rider of the Rohirrim

Éowyn rushed to the front gate, anticipation increasing her speed. Her brother was returning and the wide smile on her face was threatening to split her cheeks. She watched as the riders approached Edoras and tried to identify Éomer. Where was he? '_If he broke his promise'_... she gripped the rail of the balustrade in anger. "I will skin him alive," she muttered under her breath.

"Skin who?" a deep voice echoed behind her. Éowyn turned around and saw her brother standing there, smirking at her.

"Éomer!" she yelled in delight, leaping into his arms. She heard him laugh and missed the sound of it. He kissed her on the cheek and gave her a wide grin.

"I told you I would return, little sister. Did you doubt my word?" he teased.

"You are insufferable, dear brother. And no, I did not doubt your word though you are empty of honour," she replied. Éomer laughed at her witty reply and tickled her causing her to erupt into giggles.

"Why, I was about to tell you how beautiful you looked until you unsheathed that sharp tongue of yours. I am afraid you have lost your appeal." Twelve year old Éowyn stuck her tongue out at him. He did the same and they both laughed. She missed her brother very much. It was not the same in Edoras without his presence.

"I brought you something," he says and Éowyn's eyes grew with anticipation. He hit her on the arm which did not sting Éowyn but wounded her pride. He laughed as his sister chased after him in the Golden Hall as they did when they were much younger. Eventually, when he thought his sister had endured adequate torture, he stopped running and held out his real present. He watched Éowyn's face brighten and smiled.

"Do you like it?" he asked her, knowing full well that she loved his present. She always did. She nodded and beamed at him.

"You always buy the best presents," she says.

"I know," he replies arrogantly and helps his sister to fasten the silver bracelet on her wrist.

"Thank you," she says and lovingly caresses the silver links on her new bracelet. She was amused with the small silver horses that dangled from the silver chain. Her brother ruffled her hair which she normally did not approve of but she was too happy to complain.

"Théodred!" she heard her brother greet. She greeted her much older cousin too.

"Look what Éomer gave me!" she shouted excitedly. He gave her a warm embrace and shared as much enthusiasm for her new present. He greeted Éomer with a punch on the shoulder.

"Have you congratulated Éomer yet?" her cousin asked. Bewildered, she turned to her brother.

"What did you do?" Her brother laughed in a deep voice.

"I am about to be a Rider, dear sister," he said with pride.

Her eyes grew wide. "Congratulations, Éomer! I am proud of you!"

"Thank you, Éowyn," her brother replied with a good natured smile. She really was proud of her brother. She knew he had trained hard to get obtained the honour of fighting for their uncle. He had wanted to be a Rider ever since he saw their late father on his horse. Noticing the crease on her brow, he asked her what was wrong.

"Well, I did not manage to get you a present." He chuckled, noting the guilty expression on his sister's face.

"Kiss me on the cheek and I will consider the debt repaid, milady."

"But, Éomer, it is just a kiss!" she protested.

"It is more than enough," he replied and Éowyn knew she had the best brother in all of the Mark. She kissed both of his cheeks four times. Théodred protested and wanted a kiss from her too.

* * *

As night fell, calmness settled upon Edoras. All the Riders of the Mark were present for the auspicious event. Éomer had been under the Third Marshal, Déorwine, who to his great dismay, had fallen in battle. It was at the king's request that he was placed under the late Third Marshal as he would stay in Aldburg, his old home. His father was once Third Marshal and furthermore, Déorwine had been a good friend of his father. He was a good leader and Éomer learnt much from him and grew to respect him, still grieving him after his death. He knew that the people expected him to be as great a warrior that his father had been. Seventeen Orcs he had massacred in an Orc-raid by himself. He wondered if he was able to equal his father in stature. His uncle had wrote to him, telling him of his appointment as Third Marshal of the Mark, replacing Déorwine. He was but a youth of sixteen, and would have refused, had he been given a choice. He was not prepared to shoulder such responsibility, but his uncle had placed his trust in him, and when he took his oath today, he would do his best for the people.

His usual seat was next to Théodred as he was the next male heir after his cousin but tonight, he was among the uninitiated Riders. Indeed, he had been dreaming about this day for a long time, when he would be known to the people of that he was a Rider of Rohan. He was rather proud of himself for achieving his boyhood dream. He greeted his childhood friend Aldric and took his seat next to him. There were thirty and eight men who had proven themselves worthy of fighting for the honour and valour of Théoden King as well as for the people of the Mark. The king beamed at the young men and thought back to the day when Théodred stood there as well. Now it was Éomer's turn, his sister-son. He was the youngest among them all, barely even ten and six and yet, he stood shoulder to shoulder with the men, ready to take up the role of Third Marshal.

The ceremony began and Théoden rose to speak to the would be Riders. He spoke of heroes from long ago and reminded them that the path of a Rider would lead to much death and sorrow, but in doing so, they would reap honour to their name. After he ended, everyone in the hall rose to their feet and drank a toast to the king's health and to Rohan's prosperity. A horn blew and one by one the Riders approached the king, proclaiming their oath of fealty to the king and country. When it was Éomer's turn, Théoden saw the passion and spirit that Éomund possessed now lived again in his son. "Westu hal, Théoden Cyning," he cried out in a loud voice. Théoden smiled at the boy turned man. Where have the years gone? His nephew knelt before him and took the oath with adult-like austerity.

"Éomer son of Éomund, do you swear allegiance to your king and to your land? In the terror of battle and in the fear of your foes, do you vow to stand and fight for the pride and the honour of Rohan? Will you also accept the charge laid upon you, as the appointed Third Marshal, to guard the eastern borders of the Mark, to protect and care for the people, in accordance with the laws and customs of the Eorlingas?"

"I, Éomer son of Éomund, vow to protect this land with my life be there shedding of blood and loss of life. I pledge my loyalty and allegiance to none other than the king and this great green country. I hereby accept the charge of the Eastmark, as Third Marshal, and will do my utmost in ensuring its safety and peace, in accordance with the laws and customs of the Eorlingas." With that, Théoden took his hand and cut his skin with a small knife. Éomer squeezed a droplet of his blood into a goblet of wine and drained it in a single gulp.

"Arise, Rider of Théoden, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, may you serve your lord and land with courage and strength as the fates have given you. May the sons of the House of Eorl be blessed. Go now with the blessing of the king." Éomer bowed and rejoined the men who had already taken their oaths.

* * *

After the ceremony was over, a great feast awaited all who were present, in keeping with the custom of the Rohirrim, who were a happy and contented folk. Éowyn sought her brother out to embrace him. Théodred was next to greet him as well as to congratulate him.

"Well Éomer, it would seem that you did well under my tutelage."

"Now Théodred, I am certain that you were a good teacher. But it is I who was a better student," Éomer replied.

"Such insolence!" Théodred retorted, much to the amusement of young Éowyn. The feast was as merry and as jovial as could be in Meduseld. Everyone had plenty to eat and drink and guests went to bed well sated and exhausted from the merrymaking.

Éomer peeked into Éowyn's room when she was sleeping later that night. He missed this- watching his sister sleep. She was the only member of his family that still remained. She was proof that her mother and father had once been there when they lived in happier times. He sighed and berated himself for thinking about bitter memories on a wonderful night. He looked back at his sister and found that she was beginning to look like their mother. He on the other hand, was his father's son. Although not alike in features, he behaved like his father, or so he had heard people say.

"Not yet asleep Éomer?" he heard his uncle ask behind him, startling him. He closed the door to Éowyn's room quietly and faced his uncle.

"No, not yet. I wanted to see if Éowyn was alright." The king nodded and then placed his hand on Éomer's shoulder.

"Éomer, sister-son, I am proud of you. And I do not doubt that your father and mother are too."

"Thank you, uncle. I will do my best as one of your men." His uncle nodded once again.

"Yes. Yes you will. I have no doubt that you will do your best." He looked at his stern faced nephew and felt a pang of pity for this boy who grew up too fast.

"Éomer, come and walk with me. I want to show you something." Éomer nodded and followed his uncle. Théoden thought back to the day when he visited his sister and her children in Aldburg. Five year old Éomer was confused, not knowing how to greet his uncle who he knew was also the king. He wondered what the boy would have done if Théodwyn had not greeted him with much affection and told her children to come greet their uncle. He hid his smile from his nephew, who grew more and more serious.

He thought of his sister. He had four of them but Théodwyn carved a special place in his heart when she was born. She was the only one of his sisters with fair hair. The other three inherited their mother's dark hair. Her hair was always in ringlets and she had large blue eyes. It was a shame Éowyn did not inherit her mother's eyes. He remembered the day Éomund requested for her hand in marriage. He had been so upset at his good friend for daring to ask for his sister.

* * *

"_Bring me the heads of a hundred Orcs and I shall consider whether you are worthy for my sister's hand," he replied haughtily to the tall man in front of him. _

_"Would you like the carcasses to be fresh, with their black blood dripping down their hewn necks or should I clean them up before I present them before the king?" Éomund replied and snarled. Snarled! And right in front of the king at that. The man left Théoden on his throne, slightly shaken._

_Later that night, Théodwyn sought him out. She was furious. "Éomund is leaving at dawn! Will you not put an end to this folly, brother? He will do anything for me, even ride to his doom. Why would you not give us your blessing without the fulfilment of this ridiculous request?" Like a coward, he turned away from his sister without a word and felt the bitterest regret forming in his chest._

_A week later, Éomund and a few of his men strolled through the doors of the Golden Hall, interrupting Théoden while he was in a meeting with his counsellors. He had with him a rope that seemed to have endless Orc heads tied to it. The blood was still on their necks and the stench of the rotten heads filled the air. A counsellor fainted and two others retched. Théoden was enraged and turned to the man responsible. Éomund's eyes were blazing and he stared back at the king. _

_"Théoden King, I have done as you wished," he announced in a deep, rich voice that echoed off the walls. "One hundred," he paused to smile smugly at Théoden, "and seven Orc heads. I trust that the king is not overly mindful of the odd number?" _

_Théoden boiled with anger until he heard his sister laughing behind him. He turned to look at her but her gaze was fixated on the man he wanted to murder for daring to defy him so. And Éomund was looking back at her too. It was unmistakeable. He had already done much wrong. "Any number, even or odd, would displease me, for a great treasure you are taking from my household, Éomund, Third Marshal of the Mark. Nonetheless, you have proven your worth and you have proven your love to Théodwyn. I give you my blessing." With a heavy heart he spoke these words for in his eyes, Théodwyn was still a little girl that he had once bounced on his knee. Now she was to be married and have children of her own. "Now, remove these Orc heads from my hall!" he yelled. Éomund was about to reply when his sister leapt into his arms, ignoring his bloodstained armour._

* * *

He looked back at Éomer and saw a shadow of his sire, who had brought back a hundred and seven Orc heads for the woman he loved. He knew this man would serve his country well. He led his nephew into the king's chambers. The young man looked uncomfortable, only the king could be in the royal chambers. Even a prince like him did not have such authority. Théoden went to a great wooden chest by his bed and opened it. He searched among the trinkets he had stored in it, much to Éomer's curiosity. And then he found what he was looking for: Güthwine. He glanced at the sword fondly, as it brought back memories of his sister and her husband. His mind went back eighteen years to the feast held in honour of Éomund and Théodwyn's betrothal.

* * *

_He watched them dance the whole night. Not once did their eyes leave each other nor did they let go of one another. He saw him whisper something in her ear and she giggled. He, the king, was a jealous man. He hated that another man was making Théodwyn laugh but he knew that Éomund was a good man and would make Théodwyn happy and he supposed that that was enough. He took another sip of his ale. Maybe it was because he was lonely. After Elfhild had passed on, Théodwyn had been his source of encouragement and comfort. She also doted on Théodred, lessening the void of the prince having no maternal figure. He sighed. Théodwyn would make a good mother. All the same, he found himself wondering why Théodwyn could not have found someone else to marry, preferably someone living in Edoras and not in Aldburg, the residence of the Third Marshal._

"_Théoden King." He turned around, facing forest green eyes that bored deep into his own eyes. _

_"Éomund!" The man nodded. _

_"Théodwyn, uh, asked me to speak with you. She..., she would like us to be friends again." He made a grimace and immediately tried to mask it. Théoden sighed for the second time that night. This was expected, considering it was Théodwyn. "My liege, I have a confession. I am afraid that I have in my possession a weapon that belongs to your house." The tall man help up Güthwine, a sword that belonged in a chest in his chambers. Fury rose within him. How could he have done such a disgraceful thing?_

"_I gave it to him," a female voice interjected. Théodwyn came between her brother and her soon to be husband. _

_"It was not yours to give, sister," Théoden remarked venomously. _

_"I belong to the House of Eorl as well. I have as much authority as you to give this sword to whomsoever I deem worthy." Anger flowed through the king's veins._

_ "Théodwyn, I think it would be better if we settle this matter amongst ourselves," Éomund said calmly. _

_"Yes, Théodwyn, leave us," Théoden echoed, his anger barely masked. He caught Théodwyn casting a wary glance at Éomund. He nodded at her reassuringly and she leaves with a huff. _

_"Let us move to somewhere more secluded," the king suggested._

_They leave the feasting and embrace the cool, fresh air of the night. Both men inhaled deeply. _

_"I have not thanked you yet," Éomund said out of a sudden, breaking a long silence between the two men. "I now realize how reluctant you were to let Théodwyn go. She is both precious and fair. I was wrong to have been rude to you." _

_Théoden was taken aback. All his life he had known Éomund and he was not the type of man who talked a lot. He preferred to speak with his actions and his words and his actions of late spoke great volumes of his love for Théodwyn. _

_"And I too, owe you an apology. I should not have reacted so and sent you to your demise." _

_Éomund laughed and replied, "My lord, surely you do not mistrust the strength of your Third Marshal in battle against those foul creatures?" _

_At this, Théoden laughed. "When your mind is clouded with affection, it is hard to predict your behaviour," Théoden replied good-naturedly. _

_"Yes, I was foolish to go after a hundred Orcs. I risked the lives of my men. After you gave your permission, Théodwyn did not fail to remind me of my folly for two weeks." Théoden sighed for the third time. _

_"She yelled at me until you returned for laying down such ridiculous terms." The Third Marshal laughed and remarked, "Such is the nature of the Lady Théodwyn."_

_The two men settled into comfortable silence before Théoden broke it with a question. "Do you truly love her, Éomund?" _

_T__he man in question turned to the king. "My lord, I...," he paused and exhaled. "Théodwyn plagues my mind constantly. She is always in my thoughts, even when I need to focus. She laughs in my dreams and smiles when I wake. She is beautiful in heart and graceful in spirit. I do love her, and I believe I always will." Théoden turned to stare at the night sky._

_"That is good then, Éomund. My heart is relieved that she has someone to care for her. However, you must take great pains to cherish her and to ensure that she knows of her value in your eyes." _

_"I will," he replied._

_"Good. That is good indeed." _

_The two men turned their faces to the sky and remained quiet for a while. "How is the sword?" the king asked as he remembered the reason they were not at the hall. _

_Éomund seemed surprised, but managed to reply, "It is a good sword my lord. The craftsmanship is excellent. I do not believe that I have killed as many of my enemies with my old blade." _

_"How does it fare in battle?" _

_"It is a trustworthy blade. It strikes fear in the heart of its enemies." _

_"Keep it. If it allows you to kill ten times as many Orcs then I see no reason not to give it to you. Théodwyn has decided already, albeit rashly, to give it to you, accept it with honour and may you return this gift with valour and devotion for this green land." Éomund accepted the sword with gratitude. "Oh, and one more question, have you lain with her?" he asked, staring at him sternly. Éomund was taken aback. _

_"Assuredly not, sire. She is a princess and deserves treatment as her title deserves. I will patiently wait for our wedding night." Théoden stared suspiciously at Éomund and then assured himself that he was not lying. Men of the Mark do not tell tales. "_

_You must pardon me asking you such a question because you have a reputation for being a seducer of many women." The man in question gulped and if it were not for the waning moonlight, Théoden was certain the battle hardened warrior was blushing. _

_"Yes, I admit that I have had many, uh, trysts in the past but I swear that I will be faithful to Théodwyn." Théoden nodded and decided that his Third Marshal had answered quite enough questions for one night. "_

_Well, I suppose we should not keep Théodwyn waiting. I also suppose that she may want you cleaved to her side for the rest of the evening. As for me, I think I shall retire early tonight. Théodred expects a story from me and I would not like to disappoint him." Éomund nodded. "I shall give you three months before your wedding night. I hope that is not too taxing on your resolve," he teased. _

_"It will not. Thank you, my lord_._"_

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Théoden smiled at the memory. He found it amusing to recall such things at his age. He held out the sword to Éomer. "This was once your father's sword. Before your other passed, she requested that I give it to you when you are grown. I believe now is the time for you to know your friend in battle." With that, he placed the sword in the hands of his sister-son. The young man held it in awe and reverence, eyes opened wide.

"My father's sword," he whispered. Théoden nodded.

"It has served him well and it will serve you well. How does it feel?" Éomer unsheathed the sword and held it.

"It is a good sword," he replied with a smile.

"You remind me of your father, Éomer. You have made him proud." The young man gulped and nodded. Already he was tall, as tall as the king himself, yet he was still growing. He would be the tallest man in the land yet.

"Thank you for the sword, uncle. I will kill many Orcs with it."

"No, Éomer, you will defend many lives with this sword. Now, go to sleep and dream of many pleasant things. Éowyn has missed you greatly and will want to spend the whole day with you tomorrow. She has great energy and I am not so sure you will be able to match it with little rest." Éomer nodded and wished his uncle goodnight and left, clutching the sword. "Goodnight, my son," Théoden whispered into the empty room.


	3. Woman of the Eastwode

**Third Chapter! I realized I forgot to put a disclaimer! But I think everyone knows that the Lord of the Rings as well as the characters mentioned in it belong to J.R.R Tolkien, a true literary genius. Also I wanted to point out that the reason I wrote this story was because Karl Urban played Éomer in the movies and he is really...something. Anyways, this chapter and the next will focus on my OC because there are a lot of things to explain about her (she's pretty shady), so be patient, you'll get some Éomer soon. (Oh, and yeah, I know the poem sucks. To be fair I wrote it in like, five minutes, so give me some credit. Just some, I'm not that greedy.)**

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Chapter 3

Women of the Eastwode

"Ithílwyn! Have you got the needleweeds in the pack?" Finríel called from inside the cave. "Yes, mother," the girl who was not a child anymore replied. The two were preparing for their quarterly trip to sell their wares at the quarterly market held in Aldburg. But before that, they would have to stop at Aldwode, the nearest (existing) village. Occasionally, Finríel would make her way there if she was called by any of the villagers as they had no healer and as she was skilled in healing, she was summoned often if there was an emergency in the village. Their journey to Aldwode would take two days, with a night spent outside of their cave. Some of the goods they sold were medicines and infusions that they had prepared as well as certain leather items that Ithílwyn had made. After they earned some coins, they would then buy a few necessary items and make their way back, that was their quarterly custom.

From a distance, Finríel watched Ithílwyn packing. It had been nine years since she found the thin, scared child asleep by a rowan tree. While the years have not been kind to her in her old age, Ithílwyn had blossomed into a beautiful woman. Her dark hair reached the middle of her back and hung in dark silky curls. She was not very tall, of an average height and she was slender in build. Her skin still remained fair and whenever she smiled, a dimple would appear on her left cheek. Finríel was proud of the girl she had raised. She was obedient and gentle, yet strong and firm in her decisions. She laughed at her adopted mother's jokes and learnt herb lore and healing from her. She kept her company on lonely nights and she filled Finríel's empty heart.

Ithílwyn took a great interest in learning as she grew, absorbing Finríel's teaching. She learned how to read and write and took a great interest in reading. She always bought new books at the market, even though they cost a bit more. Already she had two shelves of books to her name, and the girl had to cram her books in to fit the limited space. Finríel sighed at the thought of making another shelf. Ithílwyn turned to her. "What is it?" she asked and smiled.

"Nothing, nothing. Just wondering if we have enough pots of green salve. The people seem to use it a lot. I wonder why they keep getting bruised and cut."

"We have plenty of that so do not fret. I am going to go prepare dinner now. You go ahead and rest. We have a long journey tomorrow and I would not like to see you strained," Ithílwyn said and gave her mother a peck on the cheek. Finríel rolled her eyes at her daughter but felt pleased at being pampered. She lied down on her bedroll and closed her eyes.

After dinner, Ithílwyn cleaned all the pots, bowls and spoons and laid out the bedrolls by the fireplace while Finríel made tea for the both of them. They drank their tea together in silence and Ithílwyn took the cups away and washed them. She returned to the fireplace and lay down beside her mother. "Ithílwyn, I need to talk to you," Finríel said. Ithílwyn turned to her. "Thíl," she began, then paused and sighed. Ithílwyn grew worried, what did she want to tell her? It seemed as if it was something unpleasant. "I am old now. I will not be here for much longer. I can feel it in my flesh." Ithílwyn shook her head in disbelief, a few tears escaping and rolling down her fair cheeks. Finríel nodded sadly as she wiped the tears away. "Do not cry, Thíl. I want you to be happy. You are of age now and I do not want you to end up living alone like me. Listen to me, you are of age now and I would like very much for you to be take notice of the men that we meet. And do not be afraid to talk to them, even though I know you are shy. My wish is for you to get married and have a family of your own, to be happy."

"I am happy with you," Ithílwyn interjected in a thick voice.

"That is good to hear, as you have made me very happy too. But you have never lived alone. It is not easy, Ithílwyn." Finríel comforted her daughter who was wracked with sobs. "Remember what I taught you. Death and birth are all part of life. We always embrace birth so easily, but we forget that we have to embrace death too. When I leave, I want to go with the knowledge that you have people you love, somebody to protect you. That you have your own family and that they have you. Sshh, stop crying. You are not a child anymore, Ithílwyn!" Her daughter made no reply. "I am still here. I have not gone yet, but I want you to be prepared when I am. You must be brave, and strong, alright?" Ithílwyn released herself from her mother's embrace and shook her head with teary eyes.

"Do not leave," she pleaded, holding her mother's arm tightly. Finríel was heartbroken. She put her arms around her daughter.

"It is not my intention to leave you, dear one. My body is weak and you know that that is true. We cannot deny truth. We can only face it with courage and that is what I want you to do. Do you understand?" Ithílwyn nodded once in resignation, a defeated look upon her face. "Let us get some sleep, we have to travel tomorrow," Finríel said and stretched on her bed. She lay down and breathed deeply, trying not to shed tears as well. Leaving Ithílwyn was a very hard thing. She found someone tug her hand.

"Mama," Ithílwyn called in a childlike voice.

"Yes, Thíl?" she replied, smiling at her daughter.

"Can we, cuddle tonight?" Finríel held her tears in and nodded. They used to cuddle when Ithílwyn first came to her cave, when she was terrified of almost everything. It had been years since they last cuddled. Ithílwyn placed her bedroll next to her mother's and sunk into Finríel's open arms. Finríel began to sing a lullaby that she used to sing when Ithílwyn had nightmares of the burning village and of her sister.

Little child, little child, why do you cry?

Little child, little child, all will be right,

I am here; I will stay by your side,

Little child, little child, don't you cry.

If you lose me over the sea, don't cry,

You can see me in the stars at night,

See the moon shining so bright,

Little child, little child, don't you cry.

Little child, little child, don't you cry

Little child, little child, you are mine,

Safe and warm in my arms, don't cry,

I will love you forever, my child.

She finished her song and sighed with relief when she heard Ithílwyn's even breathing. Then, she let out her sorrow. How she loved this girl. Though not of her blood, nor flesh, she was torn. She felt guilty for leaving her so soon. She was so pure, so innocent. How was she to survive? Oh, her little child. Finríel buried her face in Ithílwyn's mass of dark hair and cried.

Morning dawned. Finríel woke up, feeling the familiar groans and aches that had not failed to ail her in her old age. Ithílwyn was still asleep, huddled in the furs. Finríel brushed the silky locks from her fair face and stroked the soft cheek. Ah, the beauty of youth. She smiled wryly. She too, had once been beautiful although it had been many ages ago. She looked down at her wrinkled hands, peppered with brown spots. Finríel remembered when they were fair and smooth. She stood up and cracked her stiff joints. Ithílwyn woke up and sat up. "Hurry, we have to journey today, Ithílwyn. Let us have a small meal and then be on our way." Ithílwyn nodded and stretched, although not a single cracking joint was heard. Finríel chuckled to herself as she hobbled to the fireplace to brew tea, thinking how nice it would be to be young again.

Before the sun was high in the sky, the two women had already eaten and finished packing. Their possessions had been stored neatly in the back of the cave and the opening had been barred by a sort of wooden door in the event that a wild animal should pass by their cave and do unpleasant things to their home. Ithílwyn handed Finríel her walking stick and the two women set off. They headed south, of which the ground was slightly inclined upwards. Ithílwyn loved these journeys. She was curious and she liked seeing the many people in the market, especially those who sold eccentric objects. She like Aldwode too, it was a quiet village. Only twenty families called it home. Ithílwyn and Finríel were good friends with one particular family. Branleah had been taught by Finríel to treat simple ailments like fever and flu since she was well advanced in age and did not want to travel far for something so petty. Her husband was a big man and had once been a Rider. He adored Ithílwyn and taught her many useful things such as sword-fighting, archery and horse-riding. The former two allowed her to hunt for meat in the forest which came in useful as they need not set unreliable traps anymore.

Ithílwyn smiled at the thought of seeing them again. She hoped Branleah would like the coat that she made for her new daughter. She had been heavy with child during their last visit and the night before Finríel and Ithílwyn had left, she had gone into labour and given birth to a beautiful girl; Holdbeorht's first child.

Holdbeorht and Branleah had a lovely story behind their romance. He was an injured Rider, unable to serve his king in battle anymore and was sent home. He did not return to his village as he was ashamed of his limping leg. He found himself at Aldwode, where he met Branleah, a young widow with two young sons from her first marriage. Her husband had died in battle although she was not yet thirty. Holdbeorht on the other hand, was reaching forty, yet he had neither wife nor son to his name. He helped Branleah with her flock of sheep and she gave him a place to stay. After a while, they fell in love, or so Branleah says (Holdbeorht always snorts unattractively). After that, Branleah had two miscarriages and a stillbirth. So when this girl was born, the whole family was overjoyed. Ithílwyn and Finríel were happy for the family. She remembered the parents shedding tears of joy when Finríel presented them with their newborn. As Ithílwyn walked, she wondered if she would ever find love like they did. Or if she would ever become a mother one day. She supposed that for now she would have to be content with little Brea, that is if her father could spare her. She smiled to herself. Finríel was right; she should meet someone and fall in love. It would be good to have someone to hold her at night and chase away her fears. She stared at Finríel's hobbling figure in front of her. Yet this woman, who cared for her and loved her for nine years, was the person she loved most. She would feel guilty abandoning her in search of her own happiness, even if that was what Finríel wanted.

"Are you alright, Mother?" Finríel was panting and gasping for air. The hill climb was murderous. Finríel sat down on a nearby tree stump and suggested that they wait a while. Ithílwyn looked at her for a long time with suspicion. "Water, water," Finríel demanded. Ithílwyn handed her the water skin and Finríel drank deeply and let out a sigh.

"Eat something," Ithílwyn said and handed her some dried berries. They ate in silence until Finríel got up (with much difficulty and noisy joints) and said that they should continue their journey. Ithílwyn refilled the water skins from a nearby stream and they set off again.

As night fell, they set up camp near a glade where they have always spent the night when they had to travel to the village. It was a cloudless night and they decided that it was not going to rain that night. They set their bedrolls out and Finríel started a warm, crackling fire while Ithílwyn got water from a stream. They had a quiet meal and quickly went to bed. Finríel felt sore but she did not tell her daughter. They lay down and tried to get some rest. "Mother, are you awake?" Finríel opened one eye to look at her daughter.

"Now I am. You wish to tell me something?" The younger woman smiled sheepishly.

"Ask. I want to ask you a question. I was wondering if you could tell me a story, or tell me something. I cannot seem to fall asleep." Finríel yawned and nodded.

"Which story do you want to hear?" she asked as she glanced over at her beautiful daughter and saw a thin girl with bright eyes with her endless barrage of requests for her to tell a story. Had it been so long since she told Ithílwyn a story?

"Have you ever been in love, Mother?"

Finríel returned to the grown woman. "In love?" she echoed, slightly shocked at the question. Ithílwyn had always been inquisitive as a child but she had never heard this question before. She sighed and closed her eyes. Tonight, she would remember and dream. "Yes, Ithílwyn, I have been in love," she answered in a sad voice. Her daughter stared at her curiously, her face coming nearer to Finríel's. The older woman swatted her away. "Hush and lie down quietly. Do not interrupt and I will tell you my story. Many years have come upon this earth since it happened and it stirs many," she paused and exhaled. "Unpleasant memories." Ithílwyn nodded and lay down in her furs.

"It was a long time ago. My mother, as you know, was one of Queen Morwen's ladies in waiting. I was young when it took place, hmm, a year younger than you, I think. Time can put such a dent on the past. Well, I had the opportunity to be friends with the two elder princesses and we were playing a game. The game was played like this; one would walk around the garden. One whole round and the rest would hide themselves somewhere in the Golden Hall. That day, I was the one in search of the princesses. The oldest princess had just been given a new horse the previous morning and I had thought that day that it would be very likely for her to be hiding in the stables. With that assumption, I ran as fast as I could to the stables. When I opened the doors, a stallion was right in front of me, his forelegs up in the air. He looked wild and he made such a loud noise that I screamed. And then, the stable hand appeared and calmed the horse down and led him away. He saved me, you know," she paused to give Ithílwyn a smile. "He was very handsome. He had beautiful green eyes. He asked me if I was alright and I felt my legs give way." Ithílwyn giggled and Finríel looked at her pointedly.

"Sorry," she mumbled and cleared her throat.

Finríel went on. "He helped me to my feet and apologised for the incident. He told me he had only been working at the stables for two weeks. I don't remember what I said. We spent some time talking until the bell for dinner was rung. At dinner, I was berated by the princesses." Finríel let out a laugh."You yourself know I do not like horses, but I spent every day in the stables talking to the stable hand, Aedmund. The princesses found out soon enough and they teased me. About two onths later, he asked me if I wanted to go picnic with him.. I remember how shy he looked. He was such a nice man, Aedmund was. Naturally, I accepted his invitation and we had a wonderful time. He kissed me there for the first time. It was like a good dream taking place before you. Before long, he asked me to marry him. I said yes very quickly and we pledged our troth right then and there in the stables. My mother did not object when I informed her of my impending marriage and to whom. She seemed unaffected by it." Ithílwyn rarely heard about Finríel's mother whom she was told (by Finríel, of course) had Finríel out of a loveless marriage. Her mother did not think well of Finríel and Ithílwyn grew sad when she thought about Finríel who did not have a mother who loved her. "His family showed more spirit for our union. The princesses too, who promised to help me make my wedding dress. A month or so before we were to be married, he was called to serve in a battle. His charge was to take care of the horses at the encampment. I told him to be careful but he only laughed and told me to worry naught for him but to fret instead about my wedding dress. And so I prepared for a wedding which did not take place." She heard Ithílwyn gasp. She nodded sadly in return and cleared her throat, willing herself not to cry. "They were ambushed by Orcs. A hundred left Edoras. None of them returned. Aedmund was gone. He did not return to me as he had promised." A single tear dropped from her eye. "_After all these years, there is still another tear for you, Aedmund,_" she thought to herself. "I mourned for him for two months before his mother came to see me. She asked if I would like to marry her eldest son instead. I declined at first, knowing I could not love anyone like Aedmund. But after months of receiving pitying looks, I decided to leave the Golden Hall and marry Aedmund's older brother. He looked kind and I thought that I might love him someday. It was the worst decision in my life. I did not marry a man but an animal. He would frequently come home drunk and bruise me with his kicks and punches. I bore it patiently for the sake of Aedmund's parents. But when I miscarried because of his violence, I moved out. I skipped from village to village until I found this forest. I found it to be peaceful, with no one to hurt me. I found the cave and decided that it would be my home. And that is the end of my story, so go to sleep now." Ithílwyn settled in her bed and Finríel wondered how she was going to sleep with her painful memories unearthed.

"Do you still miss him?" she asked after a moment of quiet.

Finríel gulped. "Yes, I still do," she replied after a while.

"Branleah told me that no one forgets their first love," Ithílwyn said solemnly.

"No, you never forget," Finríel echoed.

"I'm sorry I asked that question. I did not know that it would be so so..."

"Sad?" Finríel finished for her. She laughed cynically. "Darling, Ithílwyn, not all stories are happy. You keep reading those silly love stories that always end with happy fates for the two lovers." They grew silent. "Of course, there are happy endings, dear and for your sake, I hope you find one. Even if he is a warrior, who constantly tempts the fates by his sword, I pray that he will always return to you and that he will hold your children in his arms and that you will be kissed every day." Ithílwyn smiled wistfully at her and laid her head on Finríel's shoulder. "I have not let Aedmund enter my dreams for a long time, mayhaps I shall see him tonight," she whispered.

Whether or not Finríel met Aedmund in her dreams that night, Ithílwyn did not know. Nor did she prod Finríel about it. They journeyed on in peace until they reached Aldwode. "Finally," Finríel breathed in relief. They laughed loudly as they saw the village.


	4. Women of the Eastwode 2

**So, I was stalking my own profile (not a narcissist, promise) and I realized that 97 people have viewed this story. So if you have anything to say, just review please cos it'd mean a lot. Thanks****. This chapter is not on Éomer but I promise we'll get some Rohan beefcake soon.**

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Chapter 4

Women of the Eastwode 2

The neat cluster of wooden buildings would seem meagre to most but for a weary Finríel and an exhausted Ithílwyn, it brought joy and relief. The first person to greet them was Branleah's eldest son. He was near twelve by now and taller than Finríel, who begrudged him of that advantage by teasing him as often as she could.

"Finríel, Ithílwyn!" he exclaimed.

"Erkenstan!" Ithílwyn called with delight. The boy gave her a tight hug and proceeded to lead the way to his parent's home. He chattered endlessly about his (new) baby sister, baby sheep, sword training and also about dirty breeches, not necessarily in that order.

''How is your sister?" Finríel inquired.

"She is really small and Mama always gives me this look when I carry her because she's de-li-cate." The boy seemed please with himself for using such a big word. Ithílwyn smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. "But she has the biggest green eyes and she laughs when I make faces at her. Like this," he says and proceeds to show Ithílwyn one of his (funny) faces. Ithílwyn laughs at the boy's antics.

"Careful there now, Erkenstan, would you want to live with that face for the rest of your life, I do not think so." Finríel warned and a sly smile appeared on her face. The boy became terrified and shook his head meekly. Ithílwyn glared at Finríel, as if to ask her to stop teasing the poor boy. She shrugged and allowed herself a perverse little smile.

"Mama! Papa! Guess who's here?" Erkenstan yelled loud enough for the whole Eastmark to hear as he opened the door roughly to his home.

"Shh, Erkenstan. Your sister is sleeping. Do not wake her up or I'll spank you." Ithílwyn smiled as she entered Holdbeorht and Branleah's home. Branleah looked exhausted. "Well, hello Finríel, Ithílwyn! Has it been three months already? My, but time passes quickly," she says, her voice laced with exhaustion. Erkenstan gets a chair for Finríel who accepts his gesture gratefully and sits down, her cracking joints causing the boy's eyes to widen. She gives him a wink and he blushes.

"I'm afraid I've only got bread and stew for supper," Branleah says, sighing.

"It is alright, Branleah, please do not exhaust yourself. We are not very hungry." The housewife lets out a sigh of relief. "How is the child?" Finríel asks. Erkenstan tossed some logs in the fire while Branleah began cutting some bread and cheese.

"She is well, but she needs some getting used to. Myself and Holdbeorht, we are not young anymore, it is hard for us to care for someone so small," she sighs. The door opens and Holdbeorht's large frame enters, Branleah's second son in his son in his arms. He kisses his wife and greets the visitors before removing his son's coat as well as his own. He helps Erkenstan ladle our stew into bowls while Erkenhelm talks with Ithílwyn and Finríel.

"We have new lambs! Papa let me help with the mama sheep today. There are two new lambs just born and they are so small," he proudly announces, holding up two fingers. Ithílwyn laughed at the ten year old's excitement. She took her handcloth and wiped his grubby face and hands."Thank you. Mama always scolds us for being dirty but Papa is also always dirty and she does not scold him like she does to us," he complains. Ithílwyn and Finríel laugh, amused at the boy's facial reaction.

"That's because Papa knows how to take a bath, you dirty rascal," Holdbeorht remarks and lifts his son in the air and tickles him mercilessly. Erkenhelm erupts into fits of giggles.

"Come on, you two, stop this tomfoolery, the guests are getting hungry," Branleah chides and Ithílwyn notes the happy, beaming look on her face. She was truly happy and Ithílwyn supposed that she envied her. The six of them squeezed at the dining table. Holdbeorht served them ale and poured the boys generous amounts, much to Branleah's annoyance.

"My dear, they are becoming men. They must learn how to drink." He smiled charmingly at his wife and gave his sons a conspirational wink. They grinned back at him. Branleah shook her head and sighed.

Ithílwyn loved dinners with this family. It was always warm and had a loving atmosphere. She could tell Finríel enjoyed herself as well. Shortly after dinner, which was jolly and merry, a loud wail erupted.

"That must be Brea," Branleah muttered and sighed. She left the table and present company to see to her daughter. After the dishes were washed and the table had been wiped with a cloth, Ithílwyn settled herself by the fireplace with the two boys while Finríel and Holdbeorht discussed current affairs. Holdbeorht had brought up the Orc-raids that have left a neighbouring village destroyed. He had been there with other men, trying to save the villagers.

"It seems that this village could be next," he says grimly and exhales. Finríel sighs as well.

"Yes, they have been roaming around the forest too. In three months, we must have dispatched fifteen Orcs. Pardon, most of the dispatching was done by Ithílwyn. You have taught her well, Master Holdbeorht." He shrugged but Finríel knew his eyes glinted with a hint of pride and male satisfaction.

"If only my boys were as attentive and patient. They would make fine warriors as well." He casts a glance at the two boys who were showing Ithílwyn their toys. "The days are dark, foul creatures move across the peaceful plains of the Mark. It is good then that Aldwode is close to Aldburg. I wonder if the Third Marshal has heard of our plight. He is responsible for the Eastmark. Does he not know of these raids?" Finríel sensed his frustration and patted his hand reassuringly. "The men have started their preparations for battle if the village is threatened. When they come, we shall be ready." At that moment, Branleah entered the room with her daughter in her arms. She passed the squirming bundle to her husband who held her with great tenderness.

"Boys, I think it is time to for you to rest your sleepy heads!" she announced and was rewarded with groans.

"But Mama," Erkenstan protested with bright blue eyes. Branleah shook her head firmly and pushed the two boys out of the room.

Once they left, Ithílwyn went to Holdbeorht's side. She had not seen the baby since she was born. She saw the plump cheeks, green eyes and one yellow tuft of hair. "She's beautiful," she breathed and stroked the plump cheek. The proud father agreed very much with Ithílwyn's assessment and handed her to Ithílwyn to hold.

"She takes after Branleah, thankfully," he says, chuckling as he adds another log to the fire. Ithílwyn taps the baby's nose gently and the baby squirms and gurgles. A wide smile spread across her face.

"She is adorable!" she whispered to prevent startling the baby. Holdbeorht nods and smiles too. He strokes the infant's head.

"This little mite here rules the house, you know. One cry and everyone rushes to her side, ready to fulfill her whims and wishes," he comments and laughs to himself. The boys pop their yellow heads through the door and kiss their father, Ithílwyn and Finríel goodnight, their flustered mother following behind them.

"Why don't you go and rest, Branleah? You do not need to fuss and fret over these familiar guests. You look awful, go and sleep." The tired mother nodded. She kissed her husband and took the baby away from Ithílwyn.

"Goodnight, sleep early you two," she warned her sons and vanished behind the door. The boys nodded cherubically and turned to Ithílwyn.

"Ithílwyn, can you tell us a story? Please?" they begged. "We haven't heard a good story for ages now!" Erkenstan pleads with much facial expression.

"I thought I told you a story three nights ago," Holdbeorht interjects, insulted.

"We wanna hear about Orcs!" Erkenstan exclaimed, pulling on her arm. Erkenhelm nodded enthusiastically. After what seemed like a hundred "Please!"'s, Ithílwyn consented and left the room, each boy pulling one hand, slowly dragging her to their room. Back in the sitting hall, Finríel and Holdbeorht hid their smiles by sipping on their ale.

"Peace and quiet," Holdbeorht says and stretches in his chair. "You are fortunate you do not live with two imps and a wailing newborn," he remarks and Finríel laughs.

"Yes, well, my imp has grown," she replies with a smile that was not altogether happy. Holdbeorht smiles at her too.

"She would make a good mother," he commented.

"She would indeed," she echoes and sighs. "Holdbeorht," she begins after a few moments of peaceful silence. He looks up at her. "Are there any young men seeking for a bride in Aldwode, or any neighbouring villages that you know?"

Holdbeorht takes another sip of his ale and wipes his beard with his sleeve. "Three or four," he replies. "You are trying to find Ithílwyn a husband?" Finríel nods. "I know them, but they are not, how do you put this, good for her. She should have someone better, a higher ranking soldier perhaps, not a farmer."

"I just want her to be happy," Finríel says and sighs. "She wants her own family, Holdbeorht. You saw it in her eyes when she held your daughter, did you not? I want her to be happy, have her own family, have people who care for her."

Holdbeorht nods. "You talk as if you will not be here long. Are you ill?" he asks, concerned for his dear friend. "My only ailment is my age, Master Holdbeorht. And I worry for Ithílwyn. She needs someone to look after her."

"I will try to see if there are any men who would suit her. She is precious to me too, Finríel. I will look after her until someone replaces me, I swear it," Holdbeorht solemnly vows.

Finríel nods. "Thank you," she whispers.

"I love her too, Finríel."

* * *

The next morning, Ithílwyn and Branleah helped Holdbeorht pack their goods for the market. Ithílwyn and Finríel had changed to dresses in the normal custom of the women of the Mark. When they are by themselves, they usually wore shorter dresses that either reach their knees or in Ithílwyn's case, to the middle of the thigh for mobility and for speed. The boys were extremely excited and Ithílwyn found herself anticipating, something. Somehow, it felt as though this market would be different. The horses were saddled and they began their journey. They had to travel a little eastward as the capital of the Eastmark was in the Folde, where the great home of the Third Marshal, Aldburg was located.

They travelled at a slow pace as Branleah insisted on coming along and that meant Brea was going for her first quarterly market. Branleah rode on her mare, her daughter bound to her chest using a special shawl that Branleah had woven herself. Ithílwyn thought it was very clever and told Branleah so. Finríel and Ithílwyn shared Erkenstan's horse and the two boys rode with Holdbeorht. Altogether, it was a peaceful journey with Brea on her best behaviour and the two boys fast asleep, much to Holdbeorht's frustration as he had to manage the horse, and keep his sons from falling off. Finríel snored against Ithílwyn's back. Even at the slow pace, they managed to reach Aldburg the night before the market. They found themselves at the local inn. Holdbeorht paid for a small room for his entire family and so did Finríel. The two grumbled over the hiked rates.

"Why I never! Five coins? A year ago it was three!" Finríel huffed. Branleah and Ithílwyn merely sighed. Holdbeorht glared furiously at the innkeeper.

Nonetheless, a bed was a bed, and the weary companions settled in for the night.

The next morning dawned fair and promising. When the companions met again for breakfast, Ithílwyn and Finríel were amused at the sight of the scruffy boys and the dark circles under the parents' eyes.

"I believe you had a rather eventful night," Finríel commented, spooning eggs into her mouth.

"What with Holdbeorht's snoring and the baby crying...," she trailed, giving a subtle glare at her husband. Erkenhelm yawned and Erkenstan rubbed his eyes.

"I only snored because the baby was crying," her husband retorted. After breakfast, they arrived at the marketplace and began to display their wares. Ithílwyn and Finríel had brought a large amount of goods this time and sighed at the work they had to do. It was a fine summer day and Ithílwyn could see Branleah setting up the stall next to them as well as other people bustling as the stalls were set up. From the corner of her eye she spotted her favourite stall as she was arranging pots and jars. It was the pancake shop. It was a thin crispy pancake that had sugar, finely chopped nuts, corn and butter inside. Finríel caught her eyeing the stall and smiled.

"Ithílwyn! Quickly arrange the salves!" she cried out pretending to be flustered and angry. Guiltily her foster daughter nodded and diligently stacked the pots. Finríel smiled, wondering if she was going to stop being mischievous even in her old age.

Being the only stall that sold herbs, medicines, furs, lotions and salves, the Wodewomen soon found they were busy with customers. Some were familiar faces and some, entirely new. They recognised some of the noble women who bought most of their facial creams and elixirs. Some bought fur gloves, purses and leather pouches. Holdbeorht and Branleah's stall was also doing farely well in its trade. They had sold most of their wool already. Erkenstan was recruited to help Finríel and Ithílwyn while his younger brother remained to assist his parents. When the crowd became spare around midday, Finríel handed Ithílwyn and Erkenstan a few coins and told them to enjoy themselves. Erkenhelm protested to his being left behind and after much persuasion, he was given permission to tag along, his pocket also jingling with a few coins. The three grinned and set off, Ithílwyn with the money in a small purse around her and the two boys holding onto her hands.

"Where to?" Ithílwyn asked, pretending she did not know the answer to that question. The two children jumped up and down while pointing to the pancake stall and Ithílwyn had to restrain herself from doing the same. They walked quickly to their destination. Erkenhelm let out a little "Hooray!" when they reached and the delicious smell of those crispy pancakes wafted all around them. The lady recognised these three regular patrons and beamed at them.

"Good day to you Master Erkenhelm. I gather you want some pancakes?" The boy nodded vigorously.

"Me too, me too!" Erkenstan shouted.

"Of course, Master Erkenstan, of course." The lady laughed and winked at Ithílwyn who could not help but laugh as well.

"Ithílwyn wants twenty!" Erkenhelm shouted and immediately received a glare from her.

"You said so earlier," he replied defiantly.

"Hush!"

The lady laughed and offered them some ale which they gladly accepted. She promised to prepare their pancakes at once and they sat down on the grass and sipped at their ale.

At that moment, a tall stranger appeared, clad in full armour. The three of them stared at the stranger. "It's a Rider!" Erkenstan whispered to Ithílwyn as the stranger took off his helmet which had a pale horsetail flowing down as its mark.

"My good woman, I am in need of fifty of your best pancakes," he says in a deep, authoritative voice.

"Fifty?" Erkenhelm echoed a little too loudly causing the stranger to turn his dark eyes on them. Ithílwyn fought to catch her breath. From his messy blond hair to his dark eyes, he was the most handsome man she had seen. Of course, she did not see many men, but this man, with his piercing eyes, standing with pride, he was different. He was very tall, of course. And he held himself with a certain noble grace. Ithílwyn wondered where he came from. "You must like pancakes more than Ithílwyn!" Erkenhelm exclaimed. Ithílwyn blushed and wished she had stuffed straw in the boy's mouth before he could speak.

"Why, if I knew I had to make so many pancakes, I would have brought my own mother. Fifty you say?" The old lady turned to the tall stranger who managed to nod swiftly. She sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. She yelled at her husband to serve the man ale. Soon Ithílwyn and the two boys found the man seated near them. It was an awkward moment. The man was huge, and seemed like a mountain to them and he did not seem like a friendly person. All was quiet until Erkenstan spotted his sword. His eyes widened and Ithílwyn had a feeling that something unpleasant was about to take place.

"You have a sword?!" he bursts out and she groans inwardly. The stranger gave a small smile and nodded. Fearlessly, the boy went over to the tall stranger with a sword. Erkenhelm followed along, forcing Ithílwyn to come along to make sure they were not in danger. The stranger unsheathes his sword and laughs at the incredulous expression of the two children. Ithílwyn noted that his appearance was more appealing when he laughed. He did not look much older than her but he seemed serious and she got the feeling that he frowned a lot. She stared at his messy blond hair and wondered if he would get angry at her if she reached out to comb it with her fingers. Probably.

"So you kill many Orcs?" Erkenstan asks. The tall stranger with broad shoulders sighed.

"Killing Orcs is not enjoyable, young one." Ithílwyn agreed with the stranger. She did not like killing Orcs either. She remembered killing her first Orc and how miserable she felt.

"Do you have a big horse?" Erkenhelm asked.

"Big horse?" the stranger repeated, amused.

"You are big and so is your sword and your horse must be big too!" Erkenhelm explained. The stranger chuckled.

"Yes, I have a big horse. The biggest horse you will ever see! He is a magnificent yet naughty steed and I have named it Firefoot. He is this big!" Ithílwyn wondered if the stranger was telling the two boys a lie or the truth. The two were most impressed with the stranger's boasts.

"Ithílwyn! Your pancakes are ready!" the old lady announces, sweat dripping from her forehead. The boys let out a synchronised cheer while the stranger seemed frustrated. She left the boys and went over to the old lady.

"I think that man is in a hurry. Why don't you hand me some first for my mother and their parents." The old lady gave her consent and Ithílwyn stuffed one into her mouth and brought back five to Finríel, Holdbeorht and Branleah. She gave her mother a grin as she handed the pancakes over and explained very briefly about the delay, leaving an undetailed description of the stranger as she would not trust her cheeks not to blush. When she returned, the stranger had gone and the two boys were there, their mouths full with pancakes. She sighed, wondering if she would ever meet him again. Probably not. Morosely, she put another pancake in her mouth and smiled as her tastebuds danced in her mouth.

"Excuse me," a rather familiar voice spoke causing her to open her eyes. She started choking on the pancake once she recognised the dark eyes of the tall, handsome stranger. Thankfully, she managed to swallow it. She heard the boys giggling behind her.

"I apologise for startling you. It was not my intent. I merely wanted to thank you for what you did," he said and smiled. She smiled back at him, assured that her cheeks were as red as could be. He nodded and left. She stared at his retreating figure for a long while.

Ithílwyn found herself rather, unclear the whole day and her mother got a little frustrated with her. Ithílwyn had never behaved in this fashion and Finríel knew why and she wanted to know who it was who caused her mind to haze. She sighed, knowing that she would have to do the shopping now that the girl was distracted to the point where she could not distinguis a pot from a jar. The market ended as the sunset, red and gold light spilling across the horizon. After they had packed, Holdbeorht and family as well as Finríel and Ithílwyn began to head back to the inn for much deserved rest. They waved good bye to the pancake woman who waved back. They separated into their respective rooms when they reached the inn. They wished an exhausted, son carrying Holdbeorht and a baby cradling, haggard looking Branleah and entered their own room. Sleepily, Ithílwyn washed her face and neck. She found her mother staring at her.

"You met someone at the market today, didn't you?" she dropped the washing cloth. "It is written clearly on your expression, Thil." She tried to cipher the expression on her mother's face but could not. "Tell me about him," she demanded.

"Well," she began. "Er, he was tall and broad. He had dark eyes and he showed Erkenstan and Erkanhelm his sword," she finished briskly and returned to washing herself. She could feel her mother's burning stare behind her.

"His sword eh?" her mother replied, casting her an odd expression. "Do you know his name?" She shook her head sadly. She felt her mother hug her from behind. "Do not be sad. I am certain that you will meet him one day. The Mark is not such a big place as it seems. Perhaps then he will show you his sword," Finríel says softly and smiles, tilting her daughter's chin to face her before bursting into laughter. But she had already seen his sword earlier, what was her mother going on about?

* * *

The next morning, the companions headed back to the village. The women spent one more night in Holdbeorht and Branleah's house before making the journey home. They presented the family with various gifts and Ithílwyn handed a rabbit fur coat that she made for the baby. Branleah gave her a kiss on the cheek. After a small meal, they waved goodbye, shouldered their bags and left. Two days later, the two women reached their cave. It was undisturbed and the women sought to return the cave to its normal arrangement. Life resumed as normal for the two women of the Wode, living peacefully in their cave. Until autumn came and Finríel grew very ill. Ithílwyn tried hard to find a cure, boiling all sorts of herbal teas and applying all sorts of poultices, but all in vain.

"Nothing can heal me, dear. I am too old. Now, come here and stay with me, I am feeling quite cold," she says in a thin, croaky voice. Ithílwyn held her mother's frail head in her lap and sang one of the lullabies she heard as she grew up in the cave. She saw her mother smile, stretching the wrinkled skin around her mouth."I love you, Ithílwyn." She brushed away the tear that rolled down her mother's cheek.

"Please do not go," she begged. "I love you too, do not leave me. You cannot leave me." She buried her face in the crook of her mother's neck and sobbed. She felt Finríel's thin hands stroking her hair.

"My beautiful daughter," she rasped. "Be strong. Promise me." Ithílwyn nodded, clutching her mother's hand. "I want to sleep now. Stoke the fire for me, it is getting chilly in here," she rasps once more, a smile spread on her face. Ithílwyn nods and adds more wood to the fireplace. She returns to her mother and lies down next to her, hearing the even breathing and falling asleep. A month later, as winter approached, Finríel died quietly in her sleep, a smile on her lips. Grieved, Ithílwyn buried her a week later and planted lilies around her mother's grave. It had been her mother's favourite flower.


	5. House of Eorl

**This chapter has a lot of Éowyn in it. I wanted to elaborate more on her as she probably had her own internal conflicts growing up with three obstinate male relatives. I hope you like this chapter so that you can review? Because I really need some sort of motivation to keep going. I have planned until about chapter 9 going on 10, so be assured. I have vowed (very) solemnly to finish this story. Also please do review or PM me because I really really would love to hear from you. Really. Special thanks also to **_**readergirl4985**_** and **_**HeartoftheArtsari**_** for their reviews and support...it was much appreciated!**

* * *

Chapter 5

House of Eorl

Éomer grinned as he saw the familiar golden roof of Edoras and he spurred Firefoot on. His men behind him shouted good humouredly at him to slow down. It did not matter, Éomer was always first to reach Meduseld. It was just the way it was. He spotted his sister's figure, her long golden hair blowing in the breeze. He heard his name being shouted in her voice. He smiled and Firefoot's hooves moved even quicker. He was home.

Once he had Firefoot saddled and brushed down, he immediately left to find his sister. He was quite excited as he had bought new riding gloves for her. Also, he had missed her laughter greatly. She was his only family left, his sister, and he would die protecting her. Éowyn launched herself at her brother, kissing him on both cheeks.

"Éowyn!" he cried out joyfully. She laughed as they embraced. "I brought something for you," he says and gives her a wink as he hands her a parcel. She unties the string and gasps in delight.

"How did you know?" she asks, her eyes bright and her hands holding up a pair of white gloves with embroidered stitching at the hem. "Every rider needs a good pair of gloves when it is cold, dear sister. I will not have you losing your hands to frostbite," he teased. Éowyn punched him on the arm in response.

"They're lovely Éomer. Where do you get them?" she ran her finger over the delicate fabric and wondered how it had been crafted so beautifully.

"I bought them from the quarterly market in Aldburg. Do you remember when we used to go as children?" Éowyn nods and smiles at the distant memory, so vague and bittersweet. "An old woman sold me those gloves, said her daughter had fashioned them." Éowyn looked at her brother suspiciously, his reputation far too incriminating for her to believe that he had left a woman alone. "What is it?" he asked.

"Did you seduce yet another woman?" she asked accusingly. Éomer feigned being hurt. "I vow I have never laid eyes upon the old woman's daughter, nor seduce her. And besides, I do not need to report my womanly conquests to you, dear sister." His sister growled at him.

"Do you think I am still a child? You have built a rather, notorious reputation for yourself, Éomer. Furthermore, I do not think it appropriate for a man to share his bed with so many women." She huffed and stuck her nose in the air.

"The rumours are exaggerated," he says and Éowyn cannot help but be offended with his careless tone. "Besides, I am not getting married. Théodred has to, but I do not. And I am a man, Éowyn. Men have certain, desires." His sister wore a disgusted look on her face and he laughs.

"You do not want to marry? What about children?" she asks, confused. Her brother smiles and reaches out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Your children will be my children." She smiles back at him.

"I suppose I should expect that. You always try to take my belongings, after all." Éomer laughs loudly.

"Some things are better left the same," he remarked.

"And some things are better changed. Do not be so confident, brother. I think you will get married after all. Mark my word." Éomer snorted.

"You may wait patiently until all your hair turns gray. I have no wish to marry." Éowyn rolls her eyes and begins her retort when Théodred enters, clapping his hands.

"Why my dear cousins, that was more entertaining than the last skit you two put on." The two men embraced in what Éowyn would deem a manly hug. Éowyn receives a kiss from her cousin on her head.

"I did not know you were back in Edoras too, Théodred," she remarks,delighted that all her family had come home.

"Gamling says he is more than capable in overseeing Helm's Deep. He did not want me to miss father's birthday celebration," he explained.

"That was very nice of him," Éowyn remarked, thinking to herself that it would be nice to meet Gamling.

"Indeed," Éomer agreed.

"Come along cousins, I am sure my father is waiting for us to join him as he partakes of his afternoon meal." The siblings nod curtly. Théodred was the elder cousin whom they both adored and respected.

When they joined the king on the table, he beamed at them. "Éomer! Sister-son, you have returned. Ah but Éowyn has missed you so. She just does not want to tell you."

Éomer smiled and replied, "Alas, I have missed her too, despite her forked tongue and forward character." The person in question scowled. The king greeted the prince and asked about the Westfold. Éomer joined in the conversation as they took their seats. They ignored Éowyn and she despised it when they did not include her just because she was not a man. Food was promptly served and the king motioned for them to eat. The men began digging into their food like ravenous beasts as Éowyn tried to mask her repulsion at their disgraceful table manners. The sons of the House of Eorl eating like hogs!

Éowyn watched in disgust as the three men shovelled food in their mouths. She stiffened when she heard Éomer slurp his soup so loudly it echoed off the walls. She grimaced when her cousin laughed and a chunk of meat landed near her finger. And when her uncle burped loudly and patted his belly satisfactorily, she merely sighed. After dinner, the men excused themselves to continue their important conversation. Of which Éowyn was excluded as usual. She had given Éomer another one of her long speeches about the exclusion of women from the war and her brother, the deplorable man, just stood there with a disinterested face, letting her words stream into one ear and flow out the other. She almost kicked him when he rolled her eyes and told her to get some rest. She loathed that her brother for being able to fight, to do something valiant and courageous. Why could she not do the same? She was merely Lady of the Golden Hall, who ordered servants about and oversaw that food was prepared well. Would the bards sing songs of praise for her deeds? What about the shieldmaidens? They were women too, why was she any different? She exhaled and retreated to her room.

The next day dawned cloudy as preparations for the celebration went on. Cooks became red-faced from roasting pork, mutton, beef, chicken and venison. Kitchen maids were baking bread and cakes till their arms were sore. Éowyn who was overseeing all the preparations had to sit down, her head swimming with so many details that she had to look into. "White linens please," she addressed the tenth maid that asked her a question that morning. She passed by some of the maidservants who were polishing the cutlery and pause to inspect their work. "Good work everyone," she yelled in every room, hoping that they would not tire. After a while, she decided that she needed to take a break from the hot and busy atmosphere. She retreated to the stables to see her new mare, Wynfola. As she made her way to the stables, she saw her brother out in the field on his steed. He was sparring with Théodred and many women were watching. The two men were not wearing shirts, exposing their broad chests. Éowyn knew it was done on purpose on her brother's part. The mouths of the women watching were not closed and Éowyn caught their impure glances at her brother and cousin. She rolled her eyes and continued on her way. When she reached, she gave the sweet creature an apple she sneaked from the kitchen. The horse nuzzled her in appreciation and she laughed for the first time that morning. "I wish I brought you more, but I am very busy today with the preparations for uncle's birthday feast. Be on your best behaviour, Wynfola, and I will ride you tomorrow." The horse blinked and let out a friendly whinny. She let her fingers run through the horse's mane as she sighed. "I am afraid I have to leave you now. I promised I would only come in for a peek and I have already deceived myself. I have to go now. Until tomorrow, you beautiful horse." She gave the horse a tight embrace and left.

She clenched her teeth as she entered the bustle of the cooks and the maidservants once more. The king's birthday was a public affair as he was respected and loved by all. There would be a mass of people in the Golden Hall tonight and Éowyn needed to make sure that all were well fed. At sixteen years of age, Éowyn had been managing the queenly affairs of the Golden Hall since the late queen was not here. She did like being useful and helpful to her uncle, however, she felt deep in her soul that she belonged outside of the Golden Hall, where sword wielding and horse riding were encouraged. She forced herself to comply with her uncle's wishes as Éomer, curse the man, had convinced him and Théodred that she would play her part better if she served in Meduseld. She liked her duty at first, as she could redecorate the Golden Hall which long had waned in its beauty without a queen to oversee the finer aspects of Edoras. She had ordered new drapes and carpets and brought out the old tapestries. And then one day, she found that it was tiresome, the same routine, repeating itself. Meduseld needed the occasional inspection, either wise it could run itself. She sighed. "Tell me, little rose," she whispers to the flower arrangement. "Why was I not born a boy?"

* * *

"_Éomer, wait for me!" Éowyn yelled as she fumbled with her skirts, trying her utmost to climb up a hill with her short and stubby legs. Her brother had already run up to the top and was now sneering at her._

_ "Go away, Éowyn!" her brother yelled from above. _

_"But, I want to play with you," she yelled back, partly frustrated that she could not ascend without breeches. And Mama did not want her to wear breeches, because she was a girl and girls wore dresses. Her brother descended just to stick his tongue out at her, not lending a hand despite her predicament._

_ "You can't even reach the top," he sneered and ascended once more. She fumed and scrunched up her small pretty face. She pulled her skirts up to her knees and marched determinedly on up the hill, muttering to herself through clenched teeth. Éomer was lying down, stretched out on the grass, his eyes closed. Éowyn was sweating and panting. She moved towards him. He moved away and scowled at her. She moved closer and he pushed her away. "Stop following me!" he yelled. She felt her lower lip trembling and the tears that were threatening to fall hung dangerously at her eyelashes. "Go on and cry, you big baby, I'm going to find Aldric. It's no fun playing with girls like you!" he ran down the hill and Éowyn thought she heard him mutter "Why did I not have a brother instead?" as he left. She ran down the hill and tripped, scratching her legs on the brambles, tears falling down her face. She ran up the steps of the hall. Her tears went plop, plop and plop in neat little circles on the floor as she moved. Through teary eyes she saw her father's tall figure and ran to him._

_Éomund saw his teary daughter run clumsily to him in a tattered dress and wondered what his son had done to his sister. He dismissed Deorwine, whom he had been discussing the possibility of another Orc hunt, and scooped her up in his arms. She burrowed her head into his neck and sobbed as he carried her to her bedroom. He sat on the bed and pulled her head from his neck. "What happened Éowyn? Why are you crying?" She did not answer but swiped the tears off her face with chubby grass stained hands. He held her until she calmed down, knowing that she needed comfort. He kissed her forehead and swept back her messy gold hair that had the same hue as her mother. He wiped her eyes with his much cleaner hands. _

_"Papa, I don't want to be a girl," his youngest said and sniffled. _

_"What? Why?" His daughter did not want to be a girl? He sighed inwardly, knowing very well that Éomer had said something to her. _

_"Then I can play with Éomer, and I can run up hills without pulling up my skirt, and I can be as fast as him and he will play with me instead of Aldric." Éomund laughed and Éowyn hit him on the chest. _

_"Don't laugh Papa!" she admonished. Her father apologised and ruffled her hair fondly. She scowled and shook her head free. _

_"Éowyn, I do not think you should become a boy. I think you are beautiful as a girl. Besides, Mama would be really disappointed if you suddenly became a boy." The little girl looked unsure. _

_"Would you be disappointed, Papa?" she asked in a small voice. He nodded. _

_"Of course I would be. I would miss playing with your braids and your girly laugh. I will miss your pretty smile and your warm hugs. And I will miss having tea with your toys too." His daughter smiled a wide smile, showing all her tiny white teeth. _

_"Really?" He nodded again. "But I really want to play with Éomer," she admitted. _

_"I know, dear. Hmm, I will talk to Éomer tonight and ask him to play with you, would that do for my princess?" His five year old nodded. He gave her another hug._

_"Papa, it's teatime," she said. She looked at him with wide gray eyes. _

_"Yes, Éowyn, it is time for tea. Is there anything?" S_

_he laughed and answered, "Tea with my toys!" She sounded like that was the obvious answer. Her father wondered why he had added that last sentence. Inwardly, the experienced battle ready warrior groaned. Outwardly, he gave her a warm smile and let his daughter pull him along to greet each of her dolls._

_Dinner was a quiet affair. Éowyn did not speak to her brother and neither did Éomer speak to his sister. Théodwyn casted a concerned look at her husband and gestured at the unusually quiet children. "I will tell you later," he whispered. She sighed and wondered what had happened between the two of them. After dinner, Éomund called his son away to talk while Théodwyn brought Éowyn to wash up and prepare for bed. _

_"Did you and your brother fight?" she asked her five year old while combing her blond hair. _

_Her daughter nodded and let out a sad "Yes, Mama". Théodwyn said nothing but continued combing. Her daughter fiddled with her fingers as her hair was being braided. "Mama," she called. _

_"Hmm?" What was her five year old going to tell her now? _

_"Uncle Théoden is so nice to you, visiting you and buying things for you. But Éomer is not nice to me. I thought older brothers were supposed to be nice to their younger sisters." Théodwyn fought the urge to let out a laugh. _

_"Your uncle never let me do anything," she admitted. Her daughter turned to stare at her with curious eyes, not believing that her uncle could behave that way. "He did not want me to learn how to ride a horse really fast or fight with a sword. He was even angry with me for shooting an arrow!" she said and laughed at the memory. She knew her son had been filling up his foolish male head with nonsense ever since he lost his front tooth. And now he was doing the same to her daughter. She sighed and wondered why her husband was not home more often. His son would only listen to him, stubborn as he is. "In fact," she continued, "Your uncle did not want me to marry Papa." She heard her daughter gasp and clutch her hand tightly. _

_"What did you do?" She smiled at her daughter, turning the small head around gently so that she could finish tying up the braid. _

_"Hmm, not much, your Papa did most of the work. I merely helped him by stealing a sword from your uncle." _

_"You stole a sword?" Big gray eyes stared back at her. She wondered often how Éowyn inherited her mother's eyes that did not belong in any Rohirrim face and she did not. She nodded. _

_"Yes, I stole a sword, darling Éowyn. Do not be afraid of what your brother says. You are younger than him and you will not always be stronger than him. But you will be strong in your own way. Do you understand?" To her relief, her daughter nodded. "But that does not mean I am allowing you to steal swords, do you hear? Do not steal swords alright," she warned. Her daughter nodded again and smiled back at her. "Very good," she said, stroking her daughter's cheek._

_At that moment Éomund came back with Éomer, who was not scowling anymore. Théodwyn caught her husband's eye and he winked at her. Éomer made his way to his sister carefully. _

_"Éowyn, uh, I am sorry for leaving you behind." His father gave him a nudge. "And for pushing you and for saying things that were not nice. I really do not want you to be a boy." His sister smiled and took his hand. _

_"It's alright, Éomer. You are stronger and faster than me, but not because you're a boy. One day, I will be strong and fast too, but in my own way. Right, Mama?" Her mother nodded approvingly. Éomund reached for his wife and held her, his arm around her waist. He missed these moments often, being called to battle almost every week. _

_"Alright, Éowyn," Éomer replied and smiled back at his sister. _

_"Alright children, go to sleep now, it is getting late," Éomund reminded and took Éomer out to his own bedroom. Théodwyn kissed her daughter goodnight and pulled the blanket up to her daughter's chin. _

_"Goodnight, Mama." She leaned in so her daughter can kiss her cheek. _

_"Goodnight Éowyn." She peppered her daughter's face with kisses. She was proud of her, and hoped she would be able to put some sense into her son's head. "I love you," she whispered and blew the candle. _

_"Love you too, Mama," he daughter replied and yawned._

_She met her husband back in their own chambers. She bolted the door behind her as she felt strong arms around her waist. "So what story did you tell him?" she asked, moving her head so that he had space to kiss her neck. _

_"The one with the beans, the chair and the ducklings. You?" he murmured between kisses. _

_"Sword thieving," she replied. _

_"Mm-hmm, not bad." He pulled away and turned her around. _

_"Not bad yourself." He laughed and pulled her close to him. _

_"This is what transpires when you are not home," she sighs. _

_"Well, now that I am home, something else is about to transpire," he replies and gives her a wicked grin. Before his wife could respond, he kissed her and smiled when he heard her sigh his name. Ah, home._

* * *

The cheers were deafening. Her uncle was well loved and admired by the people. Many had turned up for the auspicious event and also for good food and good ale, as Éowyn suspected. Her brother was gone, dancing with a rather busty female. She was busy talking to Théodred. They avoided the king's advisor, Gríma Wormtongue, of whom they had suspected much. He had shifty eyes that always seemed to be plotting, and his behaviour did not seem so innocent to them. However, the king stood by him and for his sake, they kept quiet.

"Théodred, when are you getting married?" she asked rather innocently. Her cousin was getting well advanced in years and she knew many half his age who had two or more children to their name already. Her cousin laughed.

"The woman I want to marry I cannot. And if I cannot marry the one I want to marry, then I do not believe that I should get married," he reasoned. It made sense to Éowyn.

"You are in love?" she asked. He laughed again, but this time it came out dark. He did not reply but after a while, he nodded slowly.

"And uncle..," she began when he snorted.

"Do you want to know what he said to me when I told him? I will tell you, since it is what you want to hear." He paused, took a swig of his ale and began. "You are of the House of Eorl, and second to the throne! How could you lower yourself in union to a peasant? You will not receive my blessing as your king and your father and with the authority that I wield, I will not allow your marriage will to be recognized in these lands." She watched her cousin mimic her uncle with cold, blank eyes. She had not seen him like this before.

"I would like to know about her and meet her." He turned to look at her.

"Talking about her makes me sad, Éowyn." She kept quiet and did not press him. "I asked Éomer if he wanted to marry and have children. I wanted to tell someone at the time about her. I suppose you know what his reply was. Do not hope for nieces or nephews, my dear cousin, because your brother has almost vowed to take no wife. However, I believe you and I have foreseen that one day, he will take back these words." He grinned and she could not help but laugh. "He was expecting me to marry, and have children, seeing as I am the heir to the throne." He laughs again. His cousin stared at him and he wondered if he should tell her. "Oh, Éowyn, if you only knew my lady, for she is a lady despite her lack of noble birth. She is not as fair as you are but she is beautiful in her own nature. And I love her. More than the earth loves the sun." Éowyn smiled at the sight of her cousin pining away for his secret lover. His face grew sad almost immediately.

"I wish there was a way to convince uncle," she remarked, unable to bear the sad look on her cousin's face. Why would her uncle prevent his own son's marriage? He shook his head and drained his ale, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"It is folly to try. He will not listen to anyone save his cunning advisor. Do not grieve for me, Éowyn. Love does not come as easily as one would hope. Your parents did not have a happy ending, and neither did mine. My happy end has drifted into the wind years ago. For your sake, I wish you happiness and a splendid end to your life with the one you fall hopelessly in love with." Théodred finished and smiled at her. "Well, I shall go and drink myself foolishly tonight. I suppose I should warn you that I might not see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight." He left her alone, the image of his sorrowful eyes burned in the back of her mind.

The night ended merrily, with many contented and half of them drunk. The food and the ale had vanished, leaving behind scraps and crumbs and all sorts of mess on the floor. Éowyn was too tired and left before the celebration was over. She went over to her uncle and excused herself from the feast, all the while avoiding Gríma's lecherous gaze. She hated the way he looked at her, it made her feel dirty, and exposed. She insisted that she was feeling fine and that she was merely tired. Her uncle nodded and she left to retire to her own chambers.

The next morning, Éowyn woke early and dressed and washed herself. The maids and the cooks and the servants had been far too busy merrymaking the night before and she had to rouse them as the Golden Hall was unfit to be seen. She knew it would be much messier than it was when she left last night. She opened the doors and near fainted at the smell and sight of the mess. Empty goblets, dirty plates, cutlery, bones, stockings, boots and many other unpleasant items littered the floor. Éowyn saw a pool of festering vomit and she could smell the stench of urine. She wondered if anyone had brought animals in the Golden Hall as well. She shut the door and began waking the servants. Some were asleep on the floor itself and Éowyn had to tiptoe past the litter and pools of heinous liquids to wake them. It took a long while to get them awake and able to clean. She found herself flitting from one place to another to make sure that they were not falling asleep. It was while she was washing dishes (the servant had regurgitated and Éowyn told her to get some rest) that Éomer found her. He was fully dressed in his armour and chainmail. Worry struck her. "You are leaving? So soon?" he nodded grimly and grimaced.

"An Orc-raid's been scouted near the Eastwode." Éowyn gasped, eventhough it was not a surprise. Orc-raids were too frequent in Rohan than she would have preferred. "Do not worry, I will return to Edoras soon. Take care, sister. Be safe and well. Oh, and look after Uncle too. I fear for him." She nodded and he kissed her on the top of the head. And that was that. Her brother was gone once again. She hated how he left her so often, even though she knew it wasnot his own choice. Maybe Éomer was right in choosing not to get married. He would be far too busy slaying Orcs than being with his family. She turned back to the huge heap of plates and cups and sighed. Perhaps this was far better than Orc slaying.


	6. A Strange Meeting

Chapter 6

A Strange Meeting

Ithílwyn pulled out the arrow swiftly and grunted as she lifted the doe over her shoulders with great difficulty. A year had came and went since Finríel passed on and Ithílwyn had refused Holdbeorht's kind offer to move to the village in favour of remaining where she was brought up. Not for lack of trying on their part, though, the couple applied much pressure on her to leave. They were disappointed of course, and she knew that they had genuine interest to care for her now that she was alone. Adamant and stubborn, she stayed on and took on Finríel's role as a healer. She was a good substitute, for Finríel was a good teacher, and many in Aldwode were in her debt. Four broken legs, three births, two flesh wounds and countless colds had she treated. When the couple gave up on persuading her to live with them, Holdbeorht had very generously given her his best horse as her companion, a well trained four year old mare that behaved rather childishly so much so that Ithílwyn mistook her for a filly. It was also given to her out of gratitude for helping little Brea recover from a bad fever. Branleah was now with child again, and though she was happy for the couple, she could not help but feel a little empty inside. For now, her horse was her 'baby' and she would shower all her attention on her. She named the horse Freckles as it's coat was dotted with dark spots. She thought humorously that each dot was for each of the mare's misconducts.

"Come on, Freckles," she grunted as she placed the doe on the mare's back.

"We should head back home." She grinned at the horse and led the way back to the cave. She passed by Finríel's grave almost every day and earlier today she had cleared the grave of any stray leaves or twigs. However, a newly fallen branch had flattened the lilies and she picked it up and tossed it aside. "There you go," she whispered and blinked silent tears away. She continued on her way until she reached her home. She let the horse graze freely as she hauled the doe to the entrance of the cave. She skinned the doe carefully, making sure that it came out nicely as she needed the leather for a new pair of boots. She carved the meat and then wrapped the bones in large fresh leaves. She then smoked the hide and the meat, which took some time. She cleaned the bloody mess and buried the internal organs of the deer under a maple tree.

"I am going to take a bath now," she called to the horse, which merely whinnied and went back to her grazing. "I just thought you would like to know my whereabouts in case you needed me," she replied tartly and left. In the end, the mare followed her to the pond northeast of the cave and splashed about with its mistress. After her bath, Ithílwyn roasted some meat and vegetables for dinner. She was grateful for her catch this morning. It was near spring and she had to begin her preparations for the coming winter already. Herbs had to be stocked and so did other things like meat and grains. The quarterly market was taking place soon and there was much she needed to do as well if she wanted to prepare enough goods to sell. Living alone made her very busy indeed. She decided that she would start brewing a cough syrup and went to get a pot. She was in the middle of filling it with water when she heard faint noises. She heard a horse's neigh and she knew it did not belong to Freckles. Frantically, she rushed out and saw orange lights from a distance. She could tell they were torches. In haste, she grabbed her bow and slung her quiver on her back before strapping her hunting knife at her side. Quietly, she whistled to her mare and mounted her. Used to her mistress hunting Orcs, the mare moved quietly through the woods as they got close to the lights. When Ithílwyn saw what was going on, she gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. There were Riders in the woods being attacked by a horde of ugly, brutish Orcs. She cringed at the sight of these creatures and then gritted her teeth. She had just made new arrows and now they would be wasted. She let arrow after arrow fly from her bowstring, each one hitting its mark. The men began to rally and it seemed that their strength had been renewed as they fought back valiantly. She hid behind a rowan tree until all her arrows were spent. Still there were countless Orcs, slaying and attacking those in their sight. She reached inside her boot and pulled out another knife and exhaled calmly. She held her hunting knife in the other and came out from her hiding place. Holdbeorht had long taught her that she could not use strength as her advantage as she was small. She was not tall either so she had learned to use her speed to overcome her opponents. She charged at a particularly ugly Orc. She stopped his blade with her own and stabbed his temple with the other blade. She pulled the knife out in one movement and found herself busy with another Orc. She had never fought with so many Orcs, or men either and she did not ever want to again. The noise of the clashing blades and the panicking horses made her head swim. She stabbed her knife right between a pair of red eyes and noticed a Rider fending off three Orcs with much difficulty. He seemed injured and she came to his aid. Even though they were in the midst of Orcs, swords and blood, she found his presence strangely familiar. Somehow, the rider's imposing figure and his helmet with the horse tail crest reminded her of someone. She did not have time to remember for her attention had to be given to the slicing and stabbing of attacking Orcs. She sunk her knife in an Orc and kicked him away, ducking immediately to avoid the strike of his comrade. She heard Orc groans behind her and felt a little relieved that the Rider was not dead yet. She turned and stabbed the Orc in the back, wrenching her knife out from the side. She turned around and met the Rider's face. He let out a gasp.

"A woman!"

Ithílwyn managed to roll her eyes before whirling around to defend herself. She met the Orc's cudgel-like sword with her own blade. He was too strong and he pressed down on her blade. An arrow from behind her shot him in the head and Ithílwyn moved out from under him before he collapsed onto the ground. She turned back to the Rider with features she had seen before. A dead Orc lay near his feet. His eyes widened in surprise and she felt slightly annoyed that he was shocked that she was a woman. He opened his mouth to say something but an Orc was charging from behind him. He turned around just in time to see Ithílwyn's knife hurled at his left breast. The Orc fell down with a loud thud and Ithílwyn brushed past him to retrieve her weapon. She heard swords clashing from behind her and quickly pulled her knife out. She turned back when she heard him give a grunt and saw him slice the head of the Orc. He turned back at her and saw the rest of the men slaying whatever was left of the Orcs. Both were panting and looking at each other warily.

"You are a woman!" he repeated.

"Why are you surprised?" she retorted, feeling offended at his thoughtlessness after she had just saved his life. He gave a grin and she could see his white teeth. "Victory! Victory to the Eorlingas!" they heard a Rider shouting from a distance. The Rider in front of her raised his arm and shouted "Forth Eorlingas!" before falling to his knees. She went to inspect him.

"Where are you hurt?"

"Damn Orc touched me," he cursed and spit blood on the ground. He tried to get up but faltered and let out another curse. He fell and lay on the ground, motionless. She grew worried that he was not moving, dropping her knives and getting to her knees. She slapped his face and shouted for him to wake.

"Who are you?" she heard a voice from behind her. It was another Rider and he was staring at her suspiciously.

"I am Ithílwyn and I live in a cave here in the Wode. I do not want to hear any more pointless questions right now," she said sternly, noting the untrusting look on the man's face. "There is a man bleeding here. Will you help me heal him?" The man stared at her for three seconds and proceeded to help her. The man removed the Rider's helmet while Ithílwyn whistled to Freckles.

Two more riders appeared at the scene and stared at Ithílwyn and her mare. She wondered if these men have never seen a woman in shorter skirts before. Ithílwyn held back a snort and whispered comfortingly to Freckles who was startled with the presence of many strange men.

"It is the Marshal!" she heard another man with a beautiful dark horse yell. She stared back at the man whose life she just saved and recognized him. It was the Rider she gave her pancakes to a while ago. The man on the dark horse dismounted and faced her.

"You are a healer?" he asked.

She nodded. "He needs to be brought to my cave," she added. He nodded and helped her lift the Marshal up onto the man's horse. The two of them struggled under the Marshal's weight and another Rider had to assist them. Ithílwyn saw blood staining her hands and knew she had to be quick. Together, she and the other Rider, whose name she learned was Aldhold, made way to her cave. She led a few men who accompanied all those who were injured to her cave. No word was spoken until they reached her cave. The Riders carried the injured men into her cave. Her focus remained on the Marshal, of whom she had dreamed about. He looked older and she could see more lines on his face.

"I need you to remove his armour, Aldhold. I have to boil some water." She left and was saddened at the sight of the injured men in her cave. It was going to be a long night. She sighed to herself. Once she had the water boiling, she went back to attend to the injure Marshal, who had been stripped of clothes and armour by his men and was now lying half naked, the lower half of his body covered with her blanket. Aldhold was nowhere to be seen.

"I sent him to see to the other injured men," the Marshal rasped, his eyes half lidded. She was surprised that he was awake and took a while before she replied. "I see." She avoided his gaze and started to inspect his wound. She gaped at his broad and muscular chest. This man was all muscle and brute strength. She tried to turn away from his chest and looked intently on the wound on his abdomen. It was an ugly cut and he had already lost a lot of blood. She pressed some cloths to the wound to stop the bleeding and instructed him to apply pressure while she went off to gather a few things. Hastily, she gathered salves, cloths and herbs into a basket and returned.

"Who are you?" he rasped again when she began cleaning his wound. She looked into his eyes and regretted doing so. "Ithílwyn," she whispered, slightly dazed.

"What?" She pressed hard onto the wound with new cloths and he cried out in pain. She hid her blushing cheeks from his gaze. She apologised as innocently as she could and went back to cleaning his wound. She poured hot water into a pot and added a mixture of herbs. This would make him drowsy and she needed this man to fall asleep if she was going to heal him.

"Drink this," she instructed, holding out a bowl of the herbal concoction. He eyed her warily.

"Why?"

"It will help you," she patiently replied as she helped him up. He stared at her some more and she pushed the bowl of the herb mixture toward him. She raised her eyes at him and he gave in, obediently drinking every last drop in the bowl.

"It is horrible," he commented, showing a particularly nasty face.

"Shh," was all she said in reply. She laid him back down onto her bed. She removed the cloths she pressed into his wound and prepared her needle and thread. The wound was already cleaned and she measured the length of thread she needed.

"What are you doing?" he asked drowsily. Her heart melted at the sight of the handsome man looking at her through half lidded, sleepy eyes. The corner of his lips turned up. "I am, urm, stitching your wound up," she replied nervously. He gave a sleepy, lazy grin.

"That is nice," he mumbled, half whispered and nodded off. Ithílwyn exhaled in relief and stitched him up neatly now she was free of distractions. She applied some of Finríel's special salve onto the wound and bandaged him. She glanced at him, and smiled at the sight of the sleeping Marshal. She reached her hand out to touch his face. She touched his cheek with her finger. It felt warm and soft. Immediately she felt the heat creeping back into her cheeks. She smiled to herself and drew her hand back.

"Ithílwyn?" She turned around and saw Aldhold looking rather anxiously at her.

"Yes?" she replied nervously, hoping for dear life that he had not seen her touching his lord so intimately.

"There are other men who need your assistance. They are in much pain and we cannot cope on our own."

"How many men are there?" she asked, slightly stressed that she had to see to more than one patient.

"About twenty, lady healer." Twenty?! How was she supposed to take care of twenty of them?

"Yes, of course," she found herself replying, having no choice in the end. She could not abandon them, or lose twenty men, men who had loved ones at home. "I need some sort of assistance," she admitted. "Could you gather a few men to help me, and also if you have any medicinal supplies, I would like to have them with me."

He nodded and left her. She got up and turned back to the Marshal. She sighed and pulled the blanket up to the Marshal's neck. She resisted an odd urge to kiss him on the cheek.

Ithilwyn could not believe how busy she was, treating twenty other men at the same time. She was busy even with the five men who had volunteered to help her in treating the injured. They were occupied too, what with her requesting them to gather supplies, boil water, feed the fire, lifting the men, washing bloody cloths, fetching water, gathering herbs and medicinal supplies and feeding the men their medicine. She was in her own healing haze, stitching wounds and resetting bones. Three men were beyond her skill and they died in the night. They were buried along with the men who had given their lives in battle with the Orcs. When Ithílwyn stepped away from her final patient and stepped out of the cave for air, she almost shed tears in relief. So much pain and sadness surrounded her. One of the men came over to her and handed a bowl of what looked like stew. She thanked him, not used to eating meals she did not cook. However, she finished it with great difficulty as it was tasteless and the ingredients could not be identified. Then, she steeled herself and entered the cave once more. From outside her cave, she could hear the men singing a funeral song for the fallen men. Their voices were deep and their sorrow was apparent in the tone of their voices and the tune of the song. She felt her tears fall for the men who would never see the sun rise tomorrow. She wiped her tears away and fed the injured men who were awake the tasteless stew and gave them water to drink. The air stank of death and burnt Orc corpses. Aldhold came in a while later and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to him.

"Thank you," he said. She spotted a tear emerging from his eye.

"You should get rest," she whispered to him. He nodded and left. There she was, alone, with eighteen injured men, some who were staring at her. She kept herself awake by baking bread and brewing more medicine for the men. Some of the men were beginning to develop fevers and she had to keep cool cloths on their foreheads. She made a rich meaty broth before the sun rose and called her assistants to serve the broth to the patients and to the men who were camping outside her cave. After they too had eaten, they helped her clear the cave, washing pots and pans, bowls and spoons and forks as well as washing bloody bandages. It was the most people she had ever seen in the cave and she found it hard not to want to be alone again. She could not move without bumping into someone, and they were all men, making her feel uncomfortable even in her own home.

At around noon, the injured men began to stir and she was kept very busy indeed. According to Aldhold, some of the men were out hunting for their afternoon meal. She was not too pleased about that, but at least the men were keeping themselves occupied. She and her assistants continued keeping watch over the injured men and helping them recover. Four or five of them were awake and were walking about the cave, helping those who were still lying down. The cave was cramped with men who did not smell pleasant and Ithílwyn lost her desire to sleep. Besides, the only place she could lie down was near the fireplace and that was inches away from the Marshal. Her body was so weary that everything in her mind became blurry. Even the Riders sensed her uneasiness and exhaustion. Aldhold and a few men cleared up a space for her and laid some furs on the floor. She was grateful and curled up and tried to fall asleep. Unfortunately, they had placed her a foot away from the Marshal and she could feel the heat from his body from where she was lying. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but to no avail. She lay there for a long time until she heard him wake. One of the men came and assisted him. Aldhold went over to give a report on last night's events. She heard him curse when he was told of the casualties.

"I must tell my uncle," he murmured. He was helped up to his feet noisily as the wound still pained him. "Is that the woman who helped us?"

She froze, not daring to move a single muscle.

"Yes. She saved many lives." Her back was turned to the men and she stared at the wall of the cave intently. She heard no reply from him and kept quiet. They left the cave, their footsteps leaving a buzzing beat in her ears. She lay there for a few more minutes before deciding that she had better stop pretending to be asleep. He was just a man and she was no coward. She sat up and saw haggard faces staring back at her. Some of them smiled weakly at her and she could not help but mirror their expression. She threw more logs into the firepit and began to tidy up the clumsily strewn bedrolls and rugs. Her cave smelled like the men, sweaty, bloody and dirty. She thought of the amounts of lavender sprigs she would have to place in the cave before it smelled better. Sighing, she peeked out the entrance of the cave. She saw a group of men amongst the trees. They were looking at the Marshal who, most importantly, was not looking at her. She whistled softly to Freckles and the two escaped. She had to get away from the stuffy cave. She headed for the nearby stream so that she could freshen herself. She did not smell too fragrant either and she could hear Freckles' unhappy whinnies.

"I know I smell bad, but it is not of my doing," she replied. She found soaproot at the edge of the stream. She grabbed a few reeds and waded into the shallow waters. The water ran through her calves and she delighted in the feeling. She crushed the soaproot and lathered her hands and legs with the foamy substance. She scrubbed until her arms and legs were clean and white again and then proceeded to wash the hem of her dress, which was now blotted with blood stains.

"Oh, Freckles, I do not think I will be able to wash these stains away!" she complained. The horse neighed and went back to nibbling on tree bark. She splashed her way deeper into the stream, where the water rose to her thighs. Feeling much cooler and refreshed, she headed for the bank and stood there, examining the hem of her dress. The stains remained and she sighed, disappointed.

"Miss!" a deep voice called. She turned around, wondering who was calling out to her. When she saw who it was, she gave a shriek, slipped and fell into the water. She got up, her body soaked. Wiping her hair away from her face, she heard her horse laughing at her. A gust of wind blew at her and she shivered even though the sun was bright. She wrapped her arms about her and tried to warm herself.

"I apologise for startling you, it was not my intention," the Marshal said. She put her arms by her sides and tried to pretend that she was not cold, nor offended, even when she was both.

"I just, uh, I," she began when she followed his gaze to her wet chest, where there was nothing left for him to imagine. Immediately she covered herself with her arms and he had the manners to look apologetically at her. She felt her face heating. He muttered an incoherent apology and took his cloak off. He put his cloak on her and stepped back. "We are taking our leave. Thank you, for all that you have done for my men, and for myself. I hope one day, we will be able to repay our debt. Goodbye." He bowed and left without another word while Ithílwyn stood there by the stream wrapped in his cloak, saddened by his sudden departure.

When she had composed herself enough that she could walk without feeling as if she would fall over, she headed back to her cave and found it clean and tidy, as if they were never here. She dried herself in front of the fire and wondered if she would be able to meet him again. Also, if she was humiliated or pleased that he had been staring at her breasts. She went out again to see to Freckles. She sat down next to the horse and began to brush her.

"We have had a lot of excitement for one day," she said. The horse nickered and whipped her tail. "Do you think he's handsome?" she asked. The horse actually rolled her eyes at her. "Well, you are a horse, so you probably will not be a good judge on a man's looks." She paused and patted the horse on its muzzle. "It is like a weird dream," she sighed. "Fighting all those Orcs and healing all those injured men, and those who died. Not forgetting my embarrassing episode with the Marshal." The horse nuzzled her and she placed her arms around the horse. She ended up sleeping outside her cave, her back on the grass and her mare by her side.

When she woke, it was dark and the stars were twinkling. She went back in her cave and started another fire. Her stomach growled and she went into a little space in the back of her cave where she stored her food. She scavenged some bread and stewed some leftover vegetables. Most of her meat had ended up in the stew she made in the morning and most of her medicine and herb supplies were absent too. "So it was not a dream," she murmured to herself. Still in a daze, she sat down by the fireplace and wondered about the things she would have to do now that she had no more food. She changed into another dress and burned her dirty, bloodstained dress. She spied the red cloak and picked it up. She inhaled and was reminded of the Marshal's scent. She chastised herself for acting this way and folded the cloak. She stared at it still and unfolded it and wrapped it around her, they way he did earlier. Sighing dreamily, she went back to her meal, hoping that he and his men were alright. And that he would not be cold without his cloak.


	7. Different Circumstances

**Okay, here is Chapter Seven. Please be warned that future updates will take a painfully long time so I hope other fanfics come out so that you guys can occupy your time better...(really tired). Anyways, this chapter will have a lot of the two getting to know each other. Also, a grumpy Third Marshal! Enjoy, and please review because you should, even if you don't like it. I might take requests I think? So urm, feel free to put in what you might want to see...if it fits in to the current plan I have, then I will...(Will shut up now).**

* * *

Chapter 7

Different Circumstances

"Éomer! Wake up!" Aldric shouted, barging into his friend's room. "A band of Orcs are escaping from the South and have been scouted wandering into the eastern borders. We fear they might attack villages in their lust for destruction." While Aldric was talking, he had roused Éomer and was now helping him put on his armour. And while Aldric was talking, Éomer was wondering how he would adapt to a peaceful life. He had lost count of the number of times he had been awoken in this fashion, with the lives of his people at stake. He had a bitter taste in his mouth and he tried to wash it down with some water from a nearby pitcher. It did not work. He nodded to his friend and they ran to the stables. He saddled Firefoot and mounted him quickly, speed borne out of familiarity. He rode out and saw three hundred of his men.

"Rohirrim!" he called. The three hundred echoed in a loud voice as if to bring in the dawn, which was still hours away. Éomer was not a man of words. He believed in his work and he did not speak much. His men were familiar with his ways and at the call, they rode out behind their Marshal. The men were experienced, battle ready warriors; yet they were not immune to the drowsiness of a march held after midnight. Éomer, as usual, was silent as he rode. He had been in countless battles, and he had stopped counting the number of Orcs he had slain years ago. He thought bitter thoughts and despised the never ending stream of Orcs into Rohan, the smell of a burning village, the smell of rotting and decaying corpses. He would wish for peace, but that he knew naught of. The plains seemed to move under the swift hooves of the well bred horses. They rode until midday where they set up camp. They were approaching the eastern border but the horses were tired and the men needed rest. Éomer sent out two scouts and waited. He held his helm under his arm and looked at his men, weary and dispirited. He often wondered if he was a good replacement for Deorwine. He was elected Marshal for many reasons. He was, of course, the nephew of the king, and second to the throne. He had impressive lineage to boast of, his father being the Third Marshal before Deorwine. Furthermore he was taller than any man in the Eastmark, and he was bred to have a noble posture, and his pedigree was one the men held in high honour. A son of Eorl, he was trained well and he was Deorwine's favourite pupil. He was chosen by the man himself before he passed. But he did not feel assured when the men looked up at him, expecting him to lead them, to be the man who made all the right decisions. He tried very hard every time to meet to their expectation of a Marshal and he was worried that he would fail. His failure meant the lives of his men, and the women and children of his charge. He did not necessarily welcome the responsibility. It was heavy, and as broad as his shoulders were, he would not hesitate to give it away to a better man. He was in charge of an entire _eored_. Their lives were his to decide and he despised, loathed each decision he had to make in battle. Some of his men were already pursuing another band of Orcs on the other side of the border. He had only been in Aldburg for a week, recovering from being in battle, and now he was out in the green plains again. He wondered how many Orcs there were beyond the borders of Rohan. He wondered if the king would approve if he would go with his men to search for their living spaces. Destroying them would ensure peace for their people, and he would finally be able to get some rest. Yet, his uncle...he stopped and sighed deeply. The king, who once smiled and laughed heartily, now sat on his throne with a grim frown on his face. He no longer shaved nor cut his hair, and he wore heavy fur coats even in the summer. His sword was no longer with him and he there were moments in which he did not recognise Éomer. He was sure that the snake by his side, Wormtongue was behind this evil turn of events. He gritted his teeth in pent up fury. One day, he was going to hit Gríma until the man forgets his own name. He only wished Éowyn was safe from his lecherous advances. He had given her sword lessons, as she had requested, to protect herself, but he feared that she was too vulnerable. Her love for their uncle was very strong, and she still believes that their uncle will recover. Éomer had seen too much darkness and not much light. His heart held not a glimmer of hope. He cursed Gríma and his forked tongue and left his tent. A man should not brood too much, that was a woman's duty.

"You should eat, my lord," a Rider said as he handed Éomer a bowl of thin soup and a chunk of bread. He was a young lad of twenty and Éomer knew his father and how he had died. He nodded and took what the Rider offered, thanking him. He sat among his men who were enjoying a bawdy joke amongst themselves. He ate his food quietly and as he had expected, it did not taste like much. No food served during battle ever tasted like anything, he mused to himself. He was suddenly reminded of stew he once ate. It was rich and meaty and warm, hmm, where did he have it again? He remembered being injured when he tasted the stew. Wait, it was almost a year ago when he had been knifed by a worthless Orc. Now he remembered, it was made by that mysterious woman in the woods. He would not mind another bowl of _that_ stew. He made no complaint to the cook who smiled at him at that moment. He smiled back and gave a thumbs up as the cook pointed to the bowl from which he was drinking. Even the cooks in Aldburg could not concoct such a stew. He wondered if she still lived in the woods. He had been near the Eastwode many times before but he never went to find her, seeing as there was no reason to do such a thing. Somehow the desire did not arise. She was unlike any woman he had known and he had seen plenty of the female species. Plenty. He tried to picture how she looked like, glad that his mind was turning its direction elsewhere. He remembered her hair because he never saw dark hair in Rohan but for two exceptions: his grandmother and the snake, Gríma. But in the sun, her hair turned red and he remembered the streaks of copper he saw when she had been washing herself in the shallow stream. He grinned to himself. He was lucky to have caught her at that time. The image had helped speed his recovery. He noticed that her skin was pale, like his sister's, if not paler and that she had beautiful lips. He had wanted to kiss her then but had restrained himself with much difficulty. Rohirrim women were usually blonde and curvy but she broke the mould. She was dark haired and slender in shape. Not very fashionable in the eyes of the Rohirric nobility. He still wondered about her, because she was beautiful, and Éomer had a weak spot for beautiful women. Especially one so different from the women he usually, er, knew.

The sound of hooves upon the ground shook him out of his somewhat impure thoughts and he stood up. He was a head taller than anyone, which gave him clear sight of the scouts' return. He ordered food and drink to be brought to them immediately. He met them and they delivered their report.

"Two hundred Orcs and more, sire. Half of them the large sized Orcs, Uruks, as they call themselves." The scout panted and took a flask of water from his comrade.

"They've burned down a small village not ten leagues from the edge of the Eastwode. None survived. We arrived only when the destruction was complete," the other scout continued.

Éomer sighed and nodded once. More lives lost under his watch. "They will be heading to the next village soon," Aldric contributed from behind him. Aldric was second in command and he was never far from Éomer. This was a pattern the men were all familiar with. The men looked to him, ready for orders.

"We ride through the night, and prepare to give those foul creatures a taste of their own ruthlessness. Saddle your horses and ready your swords. On an Orc hunt we shall go!" he shouted, filled with fury at the injustice, at the lives taken too soon, and the fact that he was the protector of these lands.

The Orcs were duly surprised as the strawheads swept over them like a tide. They had reinforcements, as more Orcs had been coming to join in the raid. Thus the men were surprised as well. Not many Orcs had come after all and the Rohirrim outnumbered and outpowered the hideous beasts. The battle drove many Orcs to flee into the woods and the men showed no mercy, going into the shadow of the trees and pursuing the Orcs. In the end, they were victorious, although not without a price, seven men had been lost, men who had served their king and lord with pride and dignity. They were buried as warriors under a newly raised mound. Then the Orc corpses were piled up and burnt. Éomer looked upon the burning corpses with an emotionless face. He hated each battle he fought in, hated the fact that he could not keep Rohan safe, nor ensure the lives of his men, even though he tried his hardest. He turned to find Aldric but he was not there. Some of the men began to sing a funeral song for their brothers who had departed. He wondered where his friend was.

"Garulf! Have you seen Aldric?"

"Yes my lord, he is being treated. He was struck during a fierce fight. Went and charged at the biggest Uruk and got himself cut." Éomer shook his head and Garulf nodded symphathetically. Everyone knew exactly how Aldric fought in battle: charge at the biggest thing his eyes could see.

"He is an idiot. Where are the injured?" Garulf pointed to a big white tent and Éomer thanked him and he went his way. He entered the healer's tent and cursed inwardly for the forty seventh time that evening. Those in the tent looked more than half dead. When he laid eyes on Aldric he wanted to faint. He was by far the most bruised and broken. He went to his friend's side.

"My lord," Aldhold greeted. He was pressing on one of Aldric's many wounds. He was perspiring and very anxious. Éomer frowned. Where was Ériol? Why was he not treating the men?

"Ériol was among the men are too injured to move. They will die if we try to bring them to Aldburg. My skills are far too inferior to treat them properly, they need Stanhelm."

"Stanhelm is in Aldburg. He will need time to travel here." Éomer's brow furrowed. He knew the main healer in Aldburg would possess the skill to heal the men but Aldburg was almost a two days ride away. "Will they be able to hold on?" The healer shook his head morosely. Éomer cursed loudly.

"What about the Lady in the Eastwode?" Aldhold suggested. The woman from the woods! Yes, she would be perfect.

"Thank you, Aldhold. We shall see her. Get me Éothain!" he commanded. He left the tent for some fresher air and to think. Éothain came in a moment and Éomer gave him his orders.

"Take most of the men in my éored, who has a reason not to stay, with you back to Aldburg. The rest of my men and I will escort the injured to the woman in the woods. If you meet any Orcs on your journey home, do not spare them the sword. Leave and go quietly." Éothain nodded and left to carry out his orders. Éomer turned and went back into the tent.

"You look like horseshit," he said to Aldric, whose face was ghostly white. The man smiled and Éomer smiled back, although he was beside himself, worried that he might not see his dearest friend again.

"You were always more handsome, son of Éomund," he croaked. Éomer chuckled and called one of the healer's assistants to give orders to the escort to begin preparations.

"How did this happen? Who got to you?"

"Damn Uruk. Went too near and he snuck a knife into my thigh. Probably broke a couple of bones while he was at it. Feels like my all my bones are broken." He was smiling as he said this but Éomer wanted to punch him for being foolish.

"We're going in the forest to see someone who will help you," he explained to Aldric as his friend's eyes turned glassy.

"Mm phmm," was all he got in reply. Éomer cursed again.

The next day, twenty able bodied men escorted six injured men deeper into the Eastwode in search of the mysterious woman who had once extended her kindness, hoping that she would be gracious enough to assist them once more. Aldhold rode next to the Marshal and the two led the way. A year had brought much change to the forest. The trees looked more brown than green and every once in a while they would see Orc footprints. They saw no Orc however, and their journey remained silent. All morning, Aldric had a hot forehead and Éomer was losing hope. He hoped he would find the woman soon. They could not travel at a fast pace due to the sensitivity of the injured men and Éomer's impatience grew. He wondered if she would know what to do. She would, wouldn't she? They kept their steady and slow pace until noon, the blazing hot sun making things much worse for the escort. Aldric had stirred and he and the other men were groaning in pain, a horrendous cacophony that made Éomer grit his teeth. Aldric's bandage was now stained a dark red and he let out a vile curse. He wondered how long this torture would prolong.

"Stop! Stop! Do not come any further!" a female voice shouted. Éomer pulled Firefoot's reins and the company halted in their tracks. The very woman they wanted to see dropped from a low tree branch and landed right in front of Aldhold and his horse. Her face was flushed and her chest was heaving. Éomer forgot just how beautiful she was.

"You're walking into a trap," she confessed, her voice breathless. She pointed ahead of them. Éomer saw nothing out of the ordinary and he sensed his men were just as confused as he was.

"There is a deep pit, I covered it with a grass net, that is why you cannot see. It was made for the Orcs. Come, I will show you another way," she said. She whistled and a horse came out from the trees. Éomer wondered how he had not seen the horse. Apparently, it was her horse and she mounted her mare with practiced ease. She pulled her reins and led the way. Éomer saw her eyes linger on him a bit longer as she turned her back towards them and rode forward. He gave a signal to his men to follow and they went behind her. Éomer on the other hand, spurred Firefoot forward until he came side by side with the woman.

"Forgive me, but we require your help," he said in his most nicest and polite voice. She did not turn to him but she answered him.

"Yes, I surmised as much." She replied in a soft voice. "How gravely are they injured?" she further inquired, still not turning to the Marshal. She slowed her speed until it was a trot and Éomer was relieved that she was willing to speak with him.

"There are six on their way to death. The extent of their injuries is not known to me, and I was hoping you would be able to help. The Riders who seem healthy are also plagued by minor cuts and bruises."

She did not reply at once, but spoke after a while, in the same quiet voice. "I will lead you to my cave then. Yet, I wonder why there are so few of you."

"I sent most of the men back to Aldburg. They need to be there in case another unwanted incident should take place." She made no reply again and Éomer wondered if she was shy. He smiled at the thought.

"Is one of the injured dear to you?" she asked, and this time she faced him. But when he turned to look at her, she turned her head and fixed her gaze forward. How could she have known that?

"Yes," he simply replied.

"Then we had better hurry," she replied, turning to him and surprising him with a tilt at the corner of her lips. She galloped off, leaving swirling leaves and airborne clumps of dirt in her trail. Éomer, shocked as he was, found a chuckle escaping from his throat. He turned back to his men and asked if they could follow. Aldhold said he knew the way now and Éomer informed them that he was going ahead of them to assist the woman. He raced after the woman, following the almost unrecognizable tracks she left behind. He thought to himself that he really should not be astonished that this woman was surprising him at every turn, but she really was a different type of female. He caught up to her at last, her horse trotting slowly, as if to mock him with her slow gait.

"Will your men be able to follow?" she asked, concerned. So that was why she had slowed down. Her face was flushed and her hair was windblown and in the midst of escaping her long braid. He could not answer her at the moment; she looked like a strange vision. He noticed her eyes were a shade of dark blue, and he found it interesting. He nodded, trying to behave properly, as his friend was bleeding to his death and singing a moaning song of pain. She seemed relieved and breathed deeply. The she took off again, leaving him surprised. Firefoot chased after her, almost casting him on to the forest floor.

When he reached her cave, where he was lying down, blood pouring from his wound less than a year ago, he saw no sight of her. He tied Firefoot's reins to a tree and instructed him to behave. He found the entrance and crouched, sticking his upper half in. He had vague memories of the cave, seeing as he was asleep most of the time he was inside. He was greeted with a bucket to his midsection. He grunted and heard her say something like "Fetch water." He was hurt and offended. Here he was, Third Marshal, second in line to the throne after his cousin, who was a prince, and a direct descendant to the House of Eorl and this woman, with an unknown history, is commanding him to fetch water?! He made his way in to the cave, his hand gripping tightly on the bucket.

"I told you to go to the stream to get water," she says a little more patronizingly than Éomer would have liked.

"Now woman, I do not think you know who I am...," he began, drawing himself to his full height, ready to unleash all his titles and putting this woman in her place.

"Alright then," she replied calmly, annoying him. She stood up from the fireplace leaving a pot with (almost) boiling water. Several bowls filled with strange herbs and dried roots lay by the pot. "I will go and fetch the water. While I am busy, you shall be responsible for the crucial task of boiling medicine for your injured men. I am sure you know what herbs to put in, and in what quantity, as you are a very important man. But you better be quick, or else they will suffer." She took the bucket from his hands calmly and proceeded to exit the cave.

"Wait," he called out, sighing at his folly. He felt just like a newborn foal. "I will get the water," he acquiesced and noticed she was holding back a grin. He cursed inwardly and took the bucket she was now handing over to him. He left the cave and grumbled all the way, even when he was heading back with a full bucket. She took the bucket from him without any difficulty, leaving him to wonder at her strength. It was impressive, for a woman. But he supposed most women did not live by themselves in the forest, and that situation tended to make one strong. She gave him two more buckets and smiled sweetly at him.

"We need more water," was all she said before turning back to her pots. He could smell the herbs boiling away and he swore to himself that if Aldric got better, he would have a large debt to pay on behalf of his wounded pride. Grumbling again, he made his way to the stream and filled both buckets. He made his way back, cursing women who lived in forests who seemed to have too many buckets at their disposal. Water splashed onto his armour, weighing him down. He spotted the riderless horses from afar as he was returning and hurried back to the cave, remembering why he was here (and damp) in the beginning. He clumsily entered the cave, spilling water on the floor. All heads turned to look at him except the woman, and he felt mortified at his less than noble entrance. He set the once full buckets by the entrance and headed to where the injured men were spread out. She was beside Aldric, because he looked worst off by comparison. He was pale as a sheet and he noticed that the woman had drawn her pink lips into a thin, grim line. The men made way for him.

"I need more water," she said, her voice ringing clearly. Éomer nodded at two men and they picked up the half-filled buckets and brought it to the woman. She poured the water into a big pot and handed the empty buckets back to the two.

"It will not suffice. I need more water." They nodded and dashed out of the cave.

"Will he be alright?" he asked, unable to accept that Aldric was dying. He pushed Aldric's hair from his face.

"I do not know," she sighed sadly. "Will you make yourself useful?" He nodded. He would do anything if it meant Aldric would live.

"He was stabbed near this rib here," she said sombrely, pointing to an ugly wound on the left side of his friend's chest. "His vital organs may be injured. He broke his elbow too and he has a deep gash on his right thigh. If the wound was any deeper, his leg would have dropped off." She paused and looked at him with sad eyes. He blinked and gulped, hoping she would not say what he thought she was going to say.

"He is gravely injured, having lost a lot of blood, and most of his wounds are infected. There is a great chance he will be suffering from a great fever, even if his wounds are bandaged." She inhaled then exhaled heavily. "Do not hope for much. I will do my best, but it will be best if you prepare...," she left her sentence hanging. Éomer nodded and blinked away the small tears forming in his eyes. He believed that she was sincere in her desire to help them. It was reflected in her dark eyes. He saw a tear slip down her cheek.

"There is a small sliver of hope yet, but it would not be wise to tell untruths, nor half truths."

"It would be wrong for you to do so," he replied. She nodded and swallowed. Her supplies and tools were with her and she got to work. Éomer got the men to help her out in any way while he sat by Aldric. He watched her hands move and wondered if she had cried when she was treating him too. She ordered some of the men to start cleaning wounds and instructed them to follow her as well. Aldric let out a small moan. She had removed his bloodstained bandages and was cleaning them with a cloth dipped in the medicine she boiled earlier. Éomer helped hold Aldric who was writhing in pain. He had not seen Aldric like this and he prayed to Béma that he would not have to tell Aldric's mother about the death of her son. She paused her work while she lifted up the lid of another pot which had just boiled. She took a bowl and ladled out something that looked like thin, clear soup. She instructed the men to make the injured drink the medicine.

"Feed it to him," she instructed him, turning back to his wounds. She took out a needle and threaded a white string through it. Éomer busied himself by pouring the herbal liquid down Aldric's throat. He coughed and spluttered.

"Hold him down!" she yelled and Éomer tightened his hold, gritting his teeth. Aldric began to loosen up in Éomer's hold and he set his friend down on the makeshift bed. He turned to the other men and saw that they were all busy with the injured. He looked back to Aldric who was now asleep. The woman had stitched up the large gaping wound and was starting on another. When she was done, she asked for clean bandages. A Rider handed them to her and with Éomer's help, they bandaged the wounds. She sighed and stood up when Aldric's wounds were bandaged neatly.

"I need to see to the other men. Are you hungry?" Éomer did not know he was hungry until she suggested so. "Go through there," she instructed, pointing to a big opening in the back, "and bring some food. The men will be hungry soon." She gave him a warm smile that kept him seated for a while. She turned and sat next to the injured Rider nearest Aldric and began to inspect him. His stomach rumbled.

He called one of his men to him and asked him how much food they had. They had been travelling for quite some time and Éomer was not surprised that their supplies were almost empty. He did not want to burden the woman any more than he could bear and was sorry that he had to take her food. He asked the Rider to bring in all that had left. He called another man to gather more firewood. He entered the back part of the cave and was astonished to find an impressive food store. He took some meat and bread and placed them by the fire. He made his way out of the cave to assist the Rider who was out gathering firewood, stealing one last glance at the woman before he left.

When he came back to tend the fire, he asked the men who were unoccupied to go and wash themselves. They were dirty and smelly and he did not think that the woman would appreciate such stench in her home, even if it was only a cave. He was exhausted and wondered how she had the strength to carry on. Suddenly, he heard the sound of a bone snapping and an agonizing cry of pain that followed. He saw the slim back profile of the woman, who was kneeling by one of the injured men. Two men were beside her. He went over to Aldric. His face was peaceful, but his body was scarred and broken, and Éomer decided to shut his eyes and block that picture out of his thoughts. He went to the fireplace and found more food from the back of the cave that had not been there before.

'Did she put these here?' he wondered. He ate silently and helped distribute food to the men who had returned from washing themselves. She made her way to the other men and he brushed the bits and pices of food that had fallen on his clothes whilst he had been eating and went over to help her. He told the men, who looked haggard, to get some rest. He put more firewood into the curious fireplace, which was shaped like a rectangular basin and poured more water into a big pot to boil. The men excused themselves wearily. The woman told them to get some rest and instructed Éomer to do the same. He was exhausted and he did not realize that his eyelids were closing, nor his body being laid down on a red, tattered cloak.

He woke up with a stiff back to the sound of Aldric screaming in pain. His eyes flew open and he rushed to his side. He still felt tired and guessed that he must have fallen asleep for a little while. The woman was holding Aldric's arm and he guessed that she must have broken his bone and was going to reset it. She turned to him.

"Come and help," she invited, her voice laced with exhaustion. He nodded sheepishly, ashamed that he had fallen asleep. She gesture to a wooden splint by her side and he helped her place the splint on Aldric's arm. The arm was securely tied to the splint and she let out a loud sigh.

"Good," she sighed and got to her feet. Éomer looked around and wondered why it was so quiet. The cave was empty except for those who were injured and resting, the woman and him.

"They needed rest. The men told me they were setting up tents outside, they did not want to take up unnecessary space," she explained. "You should get some rest too."

"So should you," he replied. She half smiled at him.

"I have, er... herbs to gather," she replied unconvincingly. He looked at her curiously. "The men need more medicine and I have used up a lot of my stored herbs," she reasoned.

He nodded and she left. He turned his gaze back to the men who were bandaged and sleeping peacefully, and then toward Aldric. He still looked pale, but at least he was not groaning in pain any longer. He checked all six men and was relieved that they no longer looked dirty and bloody. She must have washed them while he was asleep. He tried to remember what she said she was doing. "Gathering herbs," he answered himself. He scratched his beard and thought that he should really go and aid her, seeing as he had slept for quite a while. He left the cave and remembered that she had flashed him a mischievous grin when she said she was going herb gathering.

"Hmm."


	8. Peeling Potatoes

**Hey all...It's Chapter 8! Thank God I was able to upload this chapter. I honestly thought I would have to wait for a week. Special thanks to almythea for her support (and insistence) over the story. I hope you like this chapter, I had a lot of fun writing it. Again, I must stress that Eomer does not belong to me, and neither do any of J.R.R. Tolkien's amazing characters. In fact I must confess that I have ruined Eomer in my story (Weeps). Also, if you have any questions, or just any comments, please do not be shy and leave a tidbit for me. Also I must warn you for the next chapter as there will be bad poetry and also it will have content that makes this story a mature one. So... enjoy this chapter, even though it is a little short. And ermm, yeah, apologies for the crap title.**

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Chapter 8

Peeling Potatoes

He wondered a lot about the woman. Besides her name, everything about her was a mystery to him. She did not look particularly Rohirric because of her dark hair, but she could speak the language fluently. And where did she learn how to heal like that? He frowned at the questions whirling about in his mind. As much as he pondered and wondered, he wandered as well. It was when he realized that he was not familiar with his surroundings that he heard the sound of splashing water. He froze and braced himself, inhaling deeply. Slowly, he drew his sword and made his way silently towards the direction of the noise. He crept ever so slowly, pushing aside branches and bushes quietly, so as to have the upper hand. He hoped Ithílwyn was nowhere near here. He doubted she could stand against an Orc with naught but a basket of herbs. He came to a lake and hid behind a tree. Once again, he carefully poked his head out from behind the tree, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Alas, it was his supposed foe that surprised him, for it was not an intruder, nor was it an Orc. It was her.

He crouched in the bushes and kept his eye on her. The moon was a pale, bright crescent in the twinkling starlit sky. And she was just as beautiful. He had to remind himself to breathe as she rose up from the water. Her skin was glowing under the moonlight, and she was slender and fair. From where he was, he could only see the outline of her back and he found himself at war, with none other than his own conscience. He could not decide between staying hidden in the bushes or leaving her to her "herb gathering". She was splashing her horse and the water receded low enough to spot her backside. He heard her laugh and he decided that she had a good laugh. He had also decided that he would love to squeeze her bottom, but he pushed that thought away. He heard her talking to her horse, of what he could not make out, for he was a good distance away. Her dark hair glittered as she shook her head. He wondered why he never found dark haired women attractive. He shook his head. What was happening to him? At that moment, the woman turned, giving Éomer an excellent side view of her body. He groaned internally. This woman was driving him mad. "I need help," he sighed, turning his back towards the lake. Without looking back, he ran back to the cave, muttering to himself the whole way.

"Honestly, Éomer, I cannot believe you just committed something so vile. Spying on a naked woman whilst she is bathing? Have you not seen your fair share of nude women? "

He hit himself on the head. He entered the cave and began pacing back and forth, chastising himself. On one hand, he could not believe that he had spied on a naked woman, when he, the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, was brought up to be a perfect gentleman. On the other, he was but a man, who was weak. And Ithílwyn was a remarkably attractive woman. Besides, he had not shared a woman's bed for what seemed like three months. Situations like these leave a man desperate. He sighed and blew strands of his hair around his face. It did not help knowing that Éowyn would not be proud of his actions. When he heard the sound of her mare outside the cave, he grew even more anxious. He thought hard about what he should do.

Ithílwyn found him adding wood to the fire when she came inside.

"You are not yet asleep?" she asked. He turned to look at her and regretted it. He hoped that she would not see him blushing like a sixteen year old in the firelight. He shook his head, not trusting his tongue to speak the right words.

"Oh," was all she said. Her hair was damp and so were parts of her dress. Thankfully, it did not reveal any more than was necessary. She wore a shorter dress than most Rohirrim women. The hem only reached the knee. He suspected it was easier for her to work with a shorter dress. She proceeded to check on each of her wards and having been satisfied, she went back to sit by the fireplace across Éomer. She ate whatever little food that was left. He did not look at her and neither did she look at him. And then suddenly,

"What is your name?" he blurted, which was not a frequent occurrence as Third Marshals do not blurt. She seemed surprised at his question and then she blushed, making his heart race.

"Ithílwyn. My name is Ithílwyn. What about you? What is your name?" she asked shyly. Hmm, Ithílwyn. He liked her name. It was different and so was she.

"My name is Éomer, son of Éomund," he replied, refraining from mentioning his titles. It did not seem appropriate somehow. He held out his hand and she shook it, her cheeks as red as cherries. He was astonished that he had made her blush just by telling her his name. _"She must not meet a lot of men_," he thought to himself.

"It is nice to meet your acquaintance," she said shyly.

"It is nice to meet your acquaintance as well, Ithílwyn." She smiled shyly and released her hand. "I should thank you for what you did for my men. If not for you, most of them would have been laid in the ground and buried. You have my thanks." She smiled again, a little bashfully this time.

"I am certain you would have...," she began on what Éomer noted was a remark on how her contribution was not significant when she was interrupted by a rather timely groan from Aldric. Ithílwyn moved over to his friend's side. He followed suit and managed to hear her sigh before she pattered off into the inner part of the cave.

"What is happening to him?" he asked. Whatever Aldric was experiencing, he wanted to know.

"It is as I feared. His fever is getting stronger." She made a downcast face before turning to him again. "I, I need to make something for the fever. Excuse me." She left and gathered more things, settling them rather abruptly into Éomer's arms. "Put them down by the fire." She left the cave, whistling to her horse and Éomer realised that she had just ordered him about for the third time that day. He set the things she unceremoniously heaped into his hands by the fire,just as she had told him to. He glanced over at Aldric, who was whimpering and making unintelligible sounds. He sighed and placed the bowls down. He set down various jars and pots of unknown sunbstances and ingredients together with the bowls. Ithílwyn returned soon enough with a basket of herbs and Éomer managed to bite his cheek before he could point out to her wryly that she had gone to gather herbs earlier.

Instead, he silently watched as she filled a small pot of boiling water with dried leaves, dried flower heads, dried tree bark, seeds and other things he could not identify. She stirred the mixture as it bubbled. Immediately Éomer could smell a vague fragrance. It was a calming sort of fragrance and it was altogether a pleasant scent. She took a stick and pushed the burning wood from under the pot to the other side and set a large pot over the shifted firewood. Éomer realised that Ithílwyn's fireplace was well suited to her needs. It was also an oven, if she needed to bake bread, and it was big enough so she could boil two to three pots of water at once, which she required, as she seemed to make a lot of herbal concoctions.

"It is almost dawn," she remarked before heading inside the inner cave. She returned with a large basket.

"Why don't you get some rest?" she asked tenderly. He shook his head.

"What are you doing right now? I would like to help you. It is the least I could do since my untimely intrusion." She smiled warmly at him and he smiled back at her.

"Alright," she replied. "You can help me fill this pot with water." She pointed at the large pot of water sitting on the fireplace. She threw more firewood in and winked at him. He nodded and slowly filled the pot. As he did so, he noticed she was busy cutting up chunks of meat and bones. She then washed the meat and the bones with water and added them to the large pot Éomer was filling. When Éomer was done with his task, he sat down next to her as she was seated amongst a large amount of vegetables.

"Would you rather peel or chop?" she asked, an amused smile on her lips.

"I must confess that I am not well trained in either task," he confessed sheepishly.

"Hmm..., then you shall chop. Go grab another basket." It was the fourth time, but Éomer said nothing. He was getting used to it. He got the basket and sat down while she handed him a small knife. She began peeling potatoes and as he watched her work, he wondered how he was to chop a potato. Never in his life had he done anything like this!

"Err, Ithílwyn?"

"Hmm?" she asked, looking up at him, her hand still expertly peeling with her thin knife.

"Have you stayed here in the forest all this while?" She nodded and seemed to be in thought. Éomer watched as her hands moved at their own pace, the skin peeling off the potatoes in a steady rhythm of its own.

"Eleven winters now," she replied and smiled at him.

"Alone?" She handed him a peeled potato to chop. Then she shook her head sadly.

"My, uh, mother and I lived here in the forest for a long time. She was here longer than I was. I do not know how long she has stayed here." He saw a tear slip down her cheek and almost reached out to brush it away. She got to it first, however and reached for another potato.

"I take it then that she is not here anymore?" he asked softly. She shook her head again. "My mother's not here anymore either." She looked up at him and he smiled at her. "My father either. He died a long time ago," he continued in the vacant tone he used when he talked about his deceased parents.

"I do not even remember my father, or my...," she paused and shut her mouth, staring at the vegetable in her hand. He looked at her bowed head with sympathy.

"You do not have to say it if you do not want to. There are secrets that are to be shared and there are some better kept." He smiled at her and she smiled back at him. She handed him another peeled potato. He purposefully held his hand over hers before taking the tuber away from her. He realized he enjoyed making her blush.

"So, she taught you to heal others?" he asked, disliking that she kept turning her gaze away from him when she became shy. She turned to face him and nodded. "She must have been a skilled healer."

"The best healer I know. When I was much younger, I used to believe there was no injury or sickness too grave that she could not cure it. She scolded me for thinking such nonsense." Ithílwyn laughed at the memory. "She told me it was a dark world we lived in and that she was grateful for every man, woman or child she managed to help." Another potato was handed to him.

"She sounds like a wise woman." Ithílwyn nodded. "By the way, I am curious as to what you are cooking. Stew? Soup?" She laughed and nodded again.

"It's stew. I think it is the same stew I made the last time you intruded into the forest. I hope you do not mind the lack of variety." She was teasing him!

"No, I certainly do not mind. Although I have to admit that that stew was the best stew I have ever eaten." She laughed.

"Honestly?" she questioned.

"Honestly," he replied. "One would think that the cooks in Aldburg would be able to produce stews of higher quality." She laughed again.

"I made it by accident. I remember it was the middle of winter, and my mother was ill at the time. It was very cold and we did not have much food. I remember I lit a huge fire and tried to make something for the both of us. Then I went rummaging around in the back of the cave and found some bones and scraps of meat and an odd mixture of vegetables. The wood was running out and I had no time to cook all of it separately. In the end I decided to cook it all together in a pot and somehow, it tasted good." She laughed once more and if Éomer thought making her blush was enjoyable, then making her laugh was unexpectedly satisfying.

"I should ask the cooks at Aldburg to attempt throwing odd ingredients into a pot," he jokingly suggested. She giggled and he smiled widely. The cook at Aldburg was a burly man who took orders from no one, not even Éomer. As Master of Aldburg, he had no authority in his kitchen. The thought of tiny Ithílwyn telling the surly cook to dump assorted ingredients into a pot and pour water in made him laugh. He could just imagine the cook's vehement reaction. He found Ithílwyn staring at him. He stopped laughing and wondered when he had last laughed. He did not remember.

"What's so funny?" she asked, a smile forming on her lips.

"The cook at Aldburg," he replied. She handed him a carrot this time and stared at him curiously.

"The cook is funny?" she asked, amused. He shook his head and smiled at her. "He is extremely grumpy and grouchy." She wore a look of adorable confusion. "He would be angry if I asked him to make stew for me by throwing everything into a pot and boiling it." She smiled.

"Hmm, I suppose it would make a hysterical scene." She looked over at his chopped vegetables and gasped.

"Am I doing it right?" he asked. She shook her head mournfully. He sighed and thought to himself that he should have expected her disappointment. He had never cooked a meal in his life, nor his sister, who was a woman.

"Look at this!" She held out a large potato chunk. "You'll choke your men!"

He grinned innocently and he saw her pause for a moment. Well, well, it looks as if his charm still had some sort of power over women.

"Not after I worked so hard to save them," she muttered under her breath and this elicited a chuckle from Éomer. She chopped up a carrot into even sized blocks for him to see. "Could you do it like this?" she asked in a strained tone. He nodded, deciding it would be better to please her. Although it was the fifth time he had given her an order.

"You do not spend a lot of time in the kitchen, do you?" she asked teasingly.

"I was a spoilt child, I must confess. The king's nephew, remember?" he teased back.

Her expression changed immediately. She seemed scared all of a sudden and Éomer wondered what he had said wrong.

"I am sorry," she said. Éomer wondered where the woman who had so fiercely stood up to him that morning had disappeared. "I should not have...," she began as she took the carrot out of his hand and placed it back in the basket. "I apologize. I have forgotten my place, my lord."

"I will not tolerate you calling me by my title here. You have saved my life before. You can call me whatever you damned want." She looked up at him, unsure. "If you do not call me by my name, that is Éomer, I shall be very furious with you. And I like cutting potatoes, and carrots and this err..."

"Leeks?"

"Leeks," he repeated. "Just don't tell my men," he added for good measure. She giggled and he smiled.

"I promise not to."

"Good. Now, how do you chop that again?"

They had the stew boiling not long after that as Éomer realized he had a talent for cutting things. It did not matter if it was the neck of an Orc or a leek. He saw Ithílwyn bringing out some bread and a flask of oil. She balanced them on a metal pan that she laid over the fireplace. She dipped her fingers in the oil and smeared the surface of the pan with it before it got too hot and when smoke rose from the hot pan, she place slices of the bread onto the pan.

"It smells delicious," he commented and was rewarded with a delighted smile. The stew simmered steadily as the sun rose. The bread had been toasted and Éomer and Ithílwyn celebrated the dawn of a new day with a feast of stew and bread. After his meal, he grew exhausted and failed to keep his eyes open. He curled up in a corner and went to sleep near Aldric. He woke up a while later rather reluctantly by one of his men.

"My lord," the Rider addressed. Éomer nodded groggily and stood up. "The lady has fallen asleep," he informed and pointed to a slender form that was sleeping in a quiet corner of the cave. "It is now sundown and the men are restless."

"Sundown?!" he exclaimed, rubbing his face. He must have been more tired than he thought. He exhaled loudly. "How are the injured faring?"

"Only Lord Aldric is asleep. The rest of the men are awake and awaiting orders." Éomer nodded, feeling rather relieved that the men were alright.

"Can they ride?" he asked. The Rider nodded in reply. "The men can bear those who are still too injured to ride. We will not be able to move as quickly as we are wont to but the men are stout-hearted . Wulfgard is especially anxious to return."

Éomer cursed. Of course, how could he have forgotten that Wulfgard's wife was expecting. "It is my fault to let that slip past me. The men are ready to return?" he pressed. The Rider nodded. His brow furrowed. Aldric was not well enough to return to Aldburg. Yet his men could not stay here, they did not have enough supplies and they could not burden Ithílwyn any longer. "Take the men who are able to ride back to Aldburg. I will remain here with Aldric until he is well enough to return." The Rider accepted his orders and turned to leave but Éomer stopped him.

"If we have not returned, or if there is now word in exactly one week's time, send men back to this place."

"Yes, my lord Éomer."

"Go as swiftly as you may and not unaware. There may be Orcs about, though I doubt they would show up in a large number as before. Wait a little longer, until Ith..., the lady awakes. I fear we may need her counsel."

"My lord, would it be safe for you and Lord Aldric to return?"

Éomer swallowed. "We will be fine. Do not worry about us." He gripped the Rider's shoulder and nodded once. The Rider nodded back grimly.

Éomer oversaw the packing, speaking to the injured men. His informer had been right about them. They were not fully healed; some men were limping, others were still in pain, yet they were ready to return. They would be able to ride, but as his man had predicted, not as swift as they would like. The rest of the uninjured men seemed well rested and they were eager to return. He and his men had been hunting Orcs for two weeks now, and unlike him, most of his men had family to return to. Most of them did not share his enthusiasm in killing Orcs and two weeks away from their wives and children was difficult.

"What's happening? Why are they leaving?" He turned around and spotted Ithílwyn, who seemed confused. He did not blame her. The men were in a flurry of activity, and he wondered if the sound of the saddled horses woke her up.

"I am sending the men back to Aldburg. I will stay here with Aldric, for he is unable to return yet. The injured men want to return as well. I am sending them home with the others."

"Are they feeling better?"

"Much better now, my lady!" one of them shouted.

Ithílwyn turned to the man who shouted and smiled at him, waving back. "They heal quickly," she mused.

"Ithílwyn, I need to speak with you." He was aware that he was feeling a little shy and wondered why he was. She nodded and he led her to the back of the cave.

"Is there another route back to Aldburg? A shorter route? I'm afraid the men might be in jeopardy if they were ambushed by Orcs." She thought for a while and then nodded.

"Yes. There is another path through the forest. It is well secluded and it will lead your men to the edge of the forest. From there, it is a two days ride northeast to Aldburg. However, I would not advise the men to leave right now. Are they in a hurry to return?"

"One of my men, Wulfgard, is expecting a child. His wife was about to deliver when he left. He is anxious to see his newborn." He noticed an odd expression on her face.

"When do they plan on leaving?"

"When do you think would be the best time?" he replied. She bit her lip.

"I suppose they could leave now. They will reach the edge of the forest near dawn and it is better to ride when the sun is up, in case an ambush is awaiting them. Orcs can see well in the dark." Éomer nodded and smiled gratefully at her.

"Thank you," he said and stepped closer to her.

"You are welcome," she replied in a small voice, looking up at him. They were far away from the others and the two were well hidden from their sight. Éomer cupped her cheek tenderly and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. A soft sigh escaped her lips and leaned down to kiss her. He did not know why he was kissing her then and there, but he found himself tilting her chin, giving him space to press his tongue in between her lips. She did not push him away, parting her lips instead. He sensed her welcome and felt her press her lips against his. He flicked the corner of her lips with his tongue as he rested a firm hand on her waist. He pulled her closer to him, savouring her warmth and the soft feel of her. His hand snaked along her spine up to her head and he stroked the soft, dark hair. He sucked on her lower lip and she gasped, causing him to chuckle. He broke away and started placing small kisses from her jaw, along her neck until he reached her collarbone. He heard a small moan from her and he took it as an encouragement to continue. She whispered his name and he felt desire for this woman rippling through his body. She was making him lose control and that was not what he needed right now. Very, very reluctantly, he let her go. He would have done something he would regret if he continued kissing her. He released his hand from her waist and the other at the curve of her bottom. She looked dazed and he smiled at her slightly messy hair. Her lips swelled and she was touching them with her fingers. She looked so beautiful in that moment that Éomer was close to losing his restraint and wanted very badly to resume kissing her. He was definitely going to have to kiss her again. How could a man resist?

He watched as she blinked three times, trying to regain her bearing. He smiled at how lovely she was as she stared at him in surprise. He had had ten years to perfect his craft of seducing women; Ithílwyn who lived alone in the forest did not stand a chance against his charm.

"My men need you to show them the way," he reminded her, hoping she would not remain dazed for too long a time. She stared at him and blinked again. Then she cleared her throat and shook her head.

"Yes, yes," she replied, nodding her head. She walked past him and he turned to watch her go. "Oh, I almost forgot." Her cheeks darkened into a bright blush and she averted her gaze. "You have to watch after your friend."

"I will."

"Uh, just, erm..., make sure that the cloths on his forehead are cool and uh, the bowl next to him has medicine in it, uh, make sure he takes some from time to time. I'll try to arrive back before dawn to check on him." Éomer nodded obediently. She lifted her head to sneak a glance at him and he smiled at her.

"Thank you for your help." She smiled shyly and turned away, heading towards the men. "I will wait here for you," he teased. She turned around to look at him. "I want to kiss you again." Her eyes grew wide and Éomer winked at her, smiling at her. Wordlessly, she turned around and continued on her way.

As Ithílwyn left to get her horse ready, he gave his final orders to his men and then watched as Ithílwyn, who chose not to meet his gaze, led them away into the trees. He watched them leave and stood there until the last Rider disappeared into the cover of the trees. He headed back into the cave and sat down next to Aldric. He touched the cloths that were on his forehead and found them warm. He went over to a basin of water and rinsed the cloth before placing it back on Aldric's head. Truth be told, he was slightly, and only slightly, lightheaded after his kiss with Ithílwyn. He was sure she had never been kissed and he wondered how he was going to fix that problem. He was surprised at her eagerness to kiss him back and smiled at the memory. He went out the cave for some fresh air, and also, he wanted to see how Firefoot was doing.

"What do you think, Firefoot?" he asked his horse, who seemed to ignore him. "Would it be fair to, be more attractive than usual?" His horse snorted at him and flicked his tail. "She is rather beautiful, don't you agree?" Firefoot gave a sort of horse-like grunt. "Yes, I know I have had many..., conquests," Éomer sighed. "She needs to learn to kiss a man," he reasoned. The horse rolled his eyes. "Yes, maybe my intentions are not as pure as I would have liked, but in my defence, most of my intentions toward women have rarely ever been innocent." Even Firefoot agreed with this statement.

After the horse had been brushed down and settled down for the night, Éomer entered the cave. Aldric was still awake and he wet his lips with water. He spied the bowl of dark liquid by Aldric's side and spooned some into Aldric's mouth. He sighed, hoping that his friend would heal quickly so that the both of them could return to Aldburg soon. His stomach grumbled and he found some food and ate it by the fire. Patiently, he waited for Ithílwyn's return. He wanted to kiss her again. No, he needed to kiss her again. And he was sure she was thinking about him right now even as she led the men towards the edge of the forest.


	9. Wholly, Completely

**HEYAH! This is Chapter 9! So apologies if the poetry is horrendous and that I suck at writing love scenes. I hope this should appease. (I'm aiming for a C plus on this one). It is a slightly longer chapter so... I hope it will last long. Also, try to guess the first song! It is definitely not by me, cos it actually makes some sort of sense. Anyways, happy reading. Comments, reviews, criticism much appreciated. Also it is five a.m. and I am up because almythea requested for this chapter. Until next time...**

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Chapter 9

She really did not know what to think as she ducked under a tree branch. The horses mad a soft sound as their hooves squished the soft earth. Was she happy or sad or angry or pleased? It certainly caught her unaware. And by it, she meant the kiss. That she shared. With the Third Marshal. And yet, now that she had time to think about it, she found herself smiling.

"Well, it was a nice kiss," she admitted to herself in a soft whisper and her lips spread out in another shy smile. She was sure it would remain in her memory always. She shook her head, trying to snap out of her...eh, fantasies and tried to focus on the task at hand: getting the Riders out of the forest. Also, she had a patient suffering from a bad fever back at her cave. She sighed to herself, wishing that she would be able to have time to herself. After Finríel left, she liked to be by herself than around other people. Living alone for too long had made her unaccustomed to company. Even Branleah had told her the last time she met them that she was much too quiet. She wondered how they were now. She had not seen them since she helped Branleah with her son's delivery last fall. She did miss the family, but she could not bring herself to spend more time with them. Without her mother, their conversations became awkward, and she did not like that they stared at her as if she was something to be pitied. It got worse when Holdbeorht and Branleah kept asking her on her thoughts of the men in Aldwode, hoping that she would get married and settle down in the village with them. It annoyed her because she certainly did not like any man in Aldwode well enough to marry and because she wanted to have the chance to fall in love with the man she was going to marry. Holdbeorht and Branleah had their tory, she wanted one of her own too. Something she will repeat to her children and grandchildren. Ithílwyn steered away from another of her Orc traps and wondered why she had made so many. Had she really been as industrious as that? Hmm, it was probably because she was alone. She sighed sadly. The men made no sound as they followed behind her. She turned around to look at them. They looked grim and tired. She hoped that they would survive the journey to Aldburg.

"_Will these dark times ever end?" _she thought to herself, turning back to the path ahead. "We are close to the border, take heart and have hope, you shall be home soon. All of you." They smiled weakly at her, and she hoped her encouragement would last long. The men were exhausted and downcast, and she was worried. They reached the border of the forest around sundown and Ithílwyn was surprised when a Rider came alongside her.

"Thank you, my lady. It is my sincere wish that one day, we may be able to repay the debt we owe you for you have treated us with kindness." She smiled shyly in return and nodded.

"Wulfgard?!" she called out. A man with sandy hair and a short beard looked at her.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Give a kiss from me to your new baby."

"I will," the new father vowed and smiled at her.

"Go quickly now, before anyone spots you. You have a few hours before dawn arrives. Be careful!"

"Aye!" they chorused and they lowered their heads as a sign of respect. She blushed and waved at them. The Riders left silently and stealthily as she watched. The last Rider waved back at her and she sat there on her horse, listening to the fading sound of galloping horses.

"Come on Freckles," she whispered and patted the horse's neck. "Let's go home."

_Holding my breath, last one I've got left till I see you;_

_Have to live with my heart, the pieces and parts of me left;_

_Every last day seemed to carry the weight of a lifetime,_

_Watched from the ground, as the gold fluttered down from the sky._

_Sweet sun, send me the moon;_

_Empty the skies out, bringing me one step closer to you;_

_Send it soon._

_And I will breathe in, breathe out till you come in and out of view_

Freckles made a snort. She turned to her mare. "What is it? Too sad a song for you?" She ran her fingers through the horse's mane. "Would you like to hear another one?"

_There once was a man who lived in a sandcastle,_

_He married a woman full of hustle and bustle._

_He loved her and she loved him, there was no doubt,_

_And when it rained, they would laugh out loud._

_One, two, three children were born,_

_All of them on a fair June morn._

_Two boys and a girl, they stole their parent's hearts;_

_They were loved completely, each and every part._

_In a happy home, their parents raised them,_

_And ate plenty of bread, butter, ham and jam._

_They grew up and moved and left the castle._

_And the parents remained, _

_Though the man had no more muscle_

_Nor the wife her usual bustle._

_Still they loved each other and gave each other kisses,_

_And everywhere they went, he'd say,_

"_This here's my missus!"_

_She died one day when no stars were in the sky,_

_And it rained so hard no one could see him cry._

_He laid her in a boat and pushed her out to sea;_

_For she had always longed to be free._

_And he changed as the days flew by,_

_the colours ever changing the sky._

_His eyes were filled with longing,_

_and his heart ever mourning._

_Until one day, he lay down and woke no more._

_He was not in his castle but outside the door._

_His missus was standing near the shore,_

_His favourite green dress she now wore._

"_I have been waiting for you," she said._

"_A simple goodbye to you I could not bade."_

_The man ran to the shore to greet his wife_

_Who had been the love of his whole life._

_There on the shore, they embraced and kissed._

_And he told her all that she had missed._

_Then they stepped into the boat he had made;_

_For his wife, when she was dead._

_They entered, hand in hand._

_Together they pushed the boat away from the sand._

_So they passed, the man in the sandcastle,_

_And his wife, who was once full of bustle._

_Over the sea and into places unknown._

_Their love would always be of great renown._

"How was that?" Her horse neighed.

"Finríel taught it to me when I was much younger. She sang it to me when I used to get scared when it rained heavily. She sang it much better." Her horse nodded. She glared at her horse. "I know the song is a little silly. I remember pestering Finríel to sing it before I went to sleep." She patted the horse and rubbed its neck. "You would like Finríel if you met her. She didn't like horses much, but I'm sure she would make an exception for you." Her tears spilled, wetting her cheeks and dripping down her chin. She had tried so hard to be brave and strong after her mother's death, for it had been what she wanted for her. She pushed the tears back into her soul. She had not cried in a long while and now her face was damp because of a song? She exhaled loudly and wiped her tears away.

"Be strong, Ithílwyn. Be brave," she repeated to herself, the same way she had done since she buried her mother. She nudged Freckles' sides and they continued on.

When she arrived back at her cave, the sky was alight with stars and she wondered if she should sleep outside of her cave that night. She had not done so since her mother had died. She entered the cave and saw Éomer and his sick friend, who were both asleep. She went to check on the man's fever. It was not that bad anymore and she sighed in relief. She then turned her attention to Éomer who was shivering slightly. She put more wood in the fireplace and fanned the flames until it was warm enough. Then, she reached out for her bedroll and took out the red cloak that he had given her over a year ago and placed it over him. The cloak was a little worn out after months of rewashing. Ithílwyn had slept with the same cloak ever since it had been in her possession. She sat down next to him and heard him breathe evenly as his chest rose and fell with each breath. She swept aside a lock of gold hair that was on his cheek and smiled. She could not believe they had met again. Was this coincidence supposed to mean something? He looked so handsome, her heart hurt. She wondered if what she was feeling right now was mere disappointment that there was no kiss waiting for her when she returned. She forced herself to turn towards Éomer's friend, who needed more attention from her. The bowl of medicine was empty. She had to make more then. She sighed and got up, heading for her store of herbs. Rummaging through her herbal supplies, she took out the dried angelica flowerheads, dried lemonbalm leaves, dried sage leaves and black cherry bark. She set them down as she began boiling more water. Her head turned to the Third Marshal on its own. She went over to him and placed a light kiss on his brow.

"You lied to me, Éomer. I am thoroughly disappointed that I did not receive a kiss," she half scolded and half whispered. She placed her forefinger on his forehead and traced it along the bridge of his nose with as light as a touch as she could manage. She placed a lip on his lower lip. They were rather nice lips to kiss. She blushed heavily, unsure where her direction of thoughts was heading. She found herself suppressing the urge to kiss him, tempting herself by tracing the outline of his lips. She sighed soft, hoping that he would not forget when he woke up. All of a sudden, he heard a groan. It was Éomer's friend. She turned to him and came to his side. He looked disoriented and dazed. She touched his forehead and winced; his skin was at an unnatural temperature.

"Where am I?" he croaked, his eyes moving wildly under his eyelids. "Where is this place?"

"Shh, you are safe here. You need to rest, now." He stared at her with a blank expression and blinked three times. "Are you hungry?" she asked softly, realizing that the water was already boiling. He nodded before she went to add the herbs she had placed on the floor earlier into the pot. She fed him bread soaked in thin broth and a few apple slices before giving him a good dose of the herbal tea. Ithílwyn decided that he looked much better after some food and medicine and she believed that his fever would break soon. Her patient smiled weakly at her before drifting into sleep. She went to get some food herself. She felt tired, hungry and dirty. Also, she had not seen to Freckles, she was more worried about Éomer's friend. She finished the rest of her apple and added bread and cheese on her plate. She ate as she watched the two men resting. She finished her meal and decided to let the men sleep while she left the cave. She desperately needed a bath. She went out and was greeted by Freckles. She led her mare to the little lake beside the cluster of juniper trees.

"Why are you so skittish?" she asked her mare. Freckles had been behaving strangely since the men had come into the forest. She suspected it was because she was not used to being near such a great number of people. Or other horses. The horse whinnied and reared her head twice.

"Behave yourself, Freckles. Be a good horse. I am too exhausted, and I know you are too. Let us bathe quickly and then we can get some rest, alright, girl?" Still the horse protested and would not let Ithílwyn lead her. Ithílwyn stubbornly pulled her horse all the way to the small lake and undressed hastily when she reached. She entered the water impatiently and muffled her screams. The water was very, very cold, but it was nonetheless refreshing. After a while, she was not so cold anymore, and Freckles had decided to join her in the lake as well (although it was with much insistence and rein tugging). Soon the two were playing and splashing water at each other. Ithílwyn was thus occupied; not knowing that behind her stood a figure, who had been watching her. Her name was shouted and she reached out to cover herself, looking frantically for the source of the voice.

"This seems enjoyable. May I join you?" Her eyes grew as wide as plates as she saw Éomer tying Firefoot's reins to a tree. His horse looked grumpy at being left alone. Her gaze turned back to the Marshal who was already well on his way undressing. His boots came off first, and then his shirt was cast aside carelessly. When he reached his breeches, she quickly turned away and moved deeper in to the water so that he would not be able to see her. She gulped, knowing that as much as she did not want to see a naked Éomer, she did. She had seen naked men before, after all she was a healer; but Éomer was not fat or hairy...was he? She heard the sound of water splashing behind getting closer, knowing that he was coming up behind her. She did not want to go any deeper because she had already gone to where the water reached her neck. She moved aside and searched desperately for Freckles so that she may plan an escape from this untimely predicament. There was no sign of the ill mannered horse, who she suspected was seeking vengeance by leaving her naked in a lake with no one else but the handsome (and very much naked) Third Marshal of the Riddermark, who coincidentally is the man she had been in love with since she saw him buying crispy pancakes.

"Ithílwyn."

He tapped her shoulder. Helplessly, she turned around to face him. She was indeed grateful that the less decent parts of him were shielded by the water. He smiled widely and she merely looked at him, wondering what she was supposed to do under such circumstances. Truly, she wished her books had advice regarding the proper etiquette of leaving a lake without exposing oneself to another naked man, who also chanced to be in the aforementioned lake.

"The water feels wonderful," he commented and all she could do was muster up a half smile and nod weakly. She felt the urgency to leave immediately flare more strongly than ever.

"_Where is that horse when you need her?" _She spied her clothes that were strewn on the ground hastily and regretted her carelessness earlier.

"I forgot something," he says. Her mind had been far too busy plotting an escape route that she had not even realized he was trying to talk to her.

"I promised you a kiss." His words caught her attention immediately. He remembered after all. He stared her with a hungry sort of gaze, making her feel warm, and uncomfortable. Then she felt him cup her cheeks with his large hands as he drew her closer to him. He kissed her then, in the gentlest manner, his lips just barely brushing hers. He pressed both of his lips on to her lower one, causing her to open her mouth in reply. He was not gentle anymore, and she did not mind. He sucked on her lower lip and pushed his tongue into her mouth. She loved the touch of his warm hands on her skin.

"Ithílwyn," he murmured and flicked his tongue at the corner of her lips. A smile formed on her lips. _"This was a dream come true." _She felt as if she was in a dream. She saw him smiling back at her and she leaned forward, pressing her lips on to his.

"Mmmm...," was all he could say and she smiled once more, as she felt him move his tongue in between her teeth. Her hands found their way to his head, and she grabbed handfuls of his golden hair. Then she heard a horse's neigh and they both pulled apart, gasping for air. It was Firefoot, who had gotten his reins untied from the tree. Éomer sighed.

"I should have tied him more securely to the tree." Out of the trees she saw Freckles making an appearance. The mare did not heed her master's calls and walked out of sight again. She groaned in frustration. Not a single carrot would that horse receive from her.

"My horse rarely obeys me either," he says at her amusement.

"I do not know why she is behaving like this."

"Firefoot is especially grumpy as well."

"Especially?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh yes, usually, he can be bad tempered. Today he's been grumpier than usual. He almost tossed me four times on the way here."

"Why are you here?" she asked shyly. Because she was curious as to his intentions, although she had a very good idea of what it was.

"I smell like Firefoot, that's why. It might be the reason why he was grumpy," Éomer jested. She laughed.

"Well, I suppose I should continue my bath as well," she added. She walked away from him, moving towards the shore. As she moved, she crouched lower and lower so that the water would hide her. She took her basket of washing items and went back into the lake. Éomer made his way over to her.

"Do you want me to wash you?" she asked mischievously.

"Oh, yes," he replied a little too enthusiastically. Ithílwyn wondered why she had been brazen enough to offer to do something so indecent in the first place. His kisses had scrambled her mind.

He took a bar of soap from her basket and handed it to her as if to say, "I am waiting." He smiled at her and closed his eyes. She rubbed the bar of soap with her wet hands and got a good amount of soap on them. Then she gently placed her hands on his broad, muscular chest, unable to stop herself from staring. She rubbed her hands on his body, soaping his skin. She noticed he had gulped, and that small action emboldened her, causing her to move her hands in a circular motion on his skin. His chest was not particularly hairy, as she had seen her fair share of hairy chests and she twisted the short stands around her fingers, tugging at them lightly. She moved above to where his collarbone lay and circled her thumb over where the bone was protruding. He exhaled heavily and she smiled to herself, glad that whatever she was doing, it was affecting him in the same way his presence had been affecting her for the past two days. She lathered her hands with soap once more and moved over to his back, gaping once again at the muscles and how it felt under the touch of her hands. He was a man, a strong, hard man. And she was bathing him.

"Raise your arms," she commanded and she wondered why her voice had come out in a much lower and raspier tone. Without a word, he obeyed and she washed his arms as well, feeling his powerful muscles. She came back to face him and dipped her hands below the water, washing his stomach. She felt his gaze on her as she moved her hand lower. She smirked at him. His dark eyes staring deep into her own.

"Maybe I should wash you as well," he says in a deep voice. Ithílwyn felt heat creeping into her cheeks, as her boldness evaporated. She wondered if she was afraid or anxious. He took the bar of soap from her grasp easily and pressed his soapy chest on to hers. She heard him let out a low groan and shuddered in what she now knew was anticipation. He slid the bar of soap around her neck and then used it to rub her back with it. All the while, his gaze never left hers, his dark eyes searching and seeking for something she did not know she possessed. He massaged her shoulders and neck, something Ithílwyn had never experienced. His hands trailed lower and she felt his hand around the breast. She gasped, not used to having another person touch her there.

"So beautiful," she heard him murmur softly as he kissed her again. His hands kept busy while he was kissing her until she could not think. She felt his hands over her stomach, at her waist, circling her hips and at her backside, yet he did not release her from his kiss. She felt her body growing warmer and wondered whether it was the water which had become warmer. Her hands were on him: one in his hair and the other pressing into his back. He broke the kiss, allowing her to breathe as he trailed kissed from her nose to her jawbone to her chin all the way to the valley between her breasts. Ithílwyn had not even realized that they had been moving nearer to the shore. They were standing in a spot where the water was now lapping at her hips. Her breasts, she realized, were completely exposed to him. Ashamed, she covers her chest.

"Ithílwyn, don't, don't do that. You are so beautiful. Do not be ashamed. Here," he protested and gently pried her arms off her chest. He cupped her breast and he felt her touching her nipple. She could not help herself and let out a small moan. She heard him chuckle and he proceeded to wreak absolute havoc on her, sensually torturing her. He kissed her again and circled his thumb over her nipple, causing her legs to weaken. He supported her as she groaned his name. She was vaguely aware of something hard and hot and very male brushing her thigh and gulped. He had her breast in his mouth now and the things he was doing with his tongue had her making noises she had never made in her twenty years of life.

"What?" Éomer asked abruptly, pushing his head up. Ithílwyn stared back at him, wondering why he had stopped. She resisted the urge to pull his head down to her chest.

"What?" she asked, feeling annoyed that he was asking her a question now.

"You, you asked me to make love to you," he says.

"I did? I said that?" she whispered, as shocked as he was. What was happening to her?

"Do you want me to?" he whispered softly, caressing her cheek with his thumb. Ithílwyn stood rooted to the base of the lake. He sighed and dropped his hand.

"I apologize, I am truly..., this was..."

She took his hand and placed it on her cheek like before and he kept quiet.

"Make love to me." It was an order.

"Ithílwyn," he began and she knew that he was giving her a chance to stop. But she realized not too long ago that she wanted this, this intimacy between a man and a woman. Especially if the man was Éomer.

"I have not felt this way before. Please? Please give me something to hold on to," she replied, the words slipping out from her mouth. She wrapped her hands around his waist abruptly and kissed him, taking him by surprise. He slipped and they fell into the water. He rose up and laughed, pulling her up. She blushed, embarrassed at her shameless actions. He smiled at her and pulled her closer to him, letting one hand rest on her bottom. He kissed her and she almost shed tears in relief. His kisses were desperate and her desire for him soared, knowing that he wanted her as well. He lifted her up and carried her all the way to the shore. He laid down the towels they had brought, exposing his arousal. She gulped and wondered if she knew what she was getting herself into. He was a large man, and he was large, there, as well. He turned towards her and she looked up at him. He picked her up again and laid her carefully on the towels. He lay beside her and took her hand. He kissed her fingers one by one,

"Have you...," he trailed. She knew what his question was and she shook her head. He nibbled on the sensitive flesh near her fingernail and she moaned. He stopped and let go of her hand.

"Ithílwyn, I...," he paused and looked afraid. "I fear I may hurt you." Ithílwyn was on her way to being frustrated. He had been teasing her body to the point where she was tensed and her entire body strained for this man and he was now hesitating. She reached out and pulled his hand so that he lay above her. She spread her hands around his chest. One hand snaked to the back and began kneading the muscles there.

"Make."

Another hand was at his chest, lightly brushing his nipple. He closed his eyes and she saw him frown.

"Love."

She circled her thumb over and over again. He stifled a groan.

"To me."

She squeezed the bud and he groaned out load. He opened his eyes and she was surprised, and at the same time pleased, to see him ravenous. For her. She smiled with delight as he kissed her with no amount of gentleness. They were borne of desire, lust and desperation. She kissed him back as her hands pinched and clawed and scratched. He had moved his head to her chest and her hands stopped moving when she felt his tongue on her skin. Somewhere between her legs, she felt hot and pulsing. She felt moist there as well, and the combination was driving her mad for him.

"Éomer," she gasped as he moved to her other breast.

"Hmm?"

"Oooh..p,please do not stop." She was practically begging him and briefly thought about how wicked she was for doing such things. He painted a path from her breast to her navel, causing her thoughts to pause. She felt his fingers between her legs.

"Éomer!"

"You should say my name more often," he teased, as he slipped one finger inside her. She heard him groan as he moved his finger deeper. Her head lolled back. She wanted to tell him something but she could not think, and her tongue was too heavy.

"If you feel any pain, pinch me, and I will stop." He took her hand and placed it at his waist.

"Do not stop," she whispered hoarsely. He smiles down at her and then she feels him, pressing into her slowly. She closes her eyes, enjoying the sensations pulsing through her. She heard him grunt and she opened her eyes. They were face to face and his hair fell onto her cheeks. She tucked his hair behind his ear and smiled.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked.

"Wonderful," she replied honestly. He smiled too, and then he frowned. She felt his thumb touch her where she was most sensitive and he nudged his hips forward, filling her. Ithílwyn pressed her eyes to keep her from crying.

"Ithílwyn? Ithílwyn? Are you hurt?" He had stopped moving and she felt the pain ebbing away. She opened one eye.

"I told you to pinch me," he reminded her. She smiled at him, touched that he would show concern for her.

"I feel fine. And I told you not to stop." He smiled back at her and buried his head in her neck, tickling her with his beard. Then he moved his head to her breast again and began to suck.

"Ooohh," was all Ithílwyn said. His hips began to move, and Ithílwyn felt more pleasure than pain. He moved faster and Ithílwyn found herself following his pace. Their voices rose higher in pitch as they moved in unison. Éomer had buried his head in the crook of her neck once more and moaned her name repeatedly. Ithílwyn was holding tightly to his shoulders, gripping them with her nails. She was so close to fulfilment and she rocked her hips quicker. Éomer let out a grunt and moved along with her and very soon, she found herself shuddering as she reached her peak. She opened her eyes and saw the stars sparkling above her head. Éomer gave a loud groan and rolled off of her. They were both panting, chests heaving with exertion. She turned to face him, a wide smile stuck on her face. He smiled back at her.

"That was very good," he said in between pants. She nodded and laughed.

"Very good," she echoed. "Éomer, I feel so sleepy."

He chuckled. "Mmm, me too." He scoops her into his arms, his hand draped around her waist. She burrows her head into the crook of his neck and sighs contentedly. She felt, complete, whole.

"Éomer?"

"Hmm?" She smiled at how sleepy he sounded.

"Could we do this again?"

"Oh yes. Whenever you want," he mumbled, smiling at her. Smiling, she closes her eyes and breathes in his scent and hers mixed together. She nestled herself closer to him and drifts into peaceful sleep.

When she awoke, the sun was already on the horizon. Éomer was still asleep and she smiled at the sight. She remembered what they had done before and smiled at the memory. She felt a little sore as she got to her feet. Éomer shifted in his sleep, letting out a small grunt. He was still stark naked and so was she, yet she found it did not bother her any more. She went to get her clothes as well as his, which lay almost opposite of where they had fallen asleep. The streak of dried blood on her thighs confirmed her lost innocence. She washed herself quickly and put on her dress after shaking it to get rid of any dirt. With his clothes in her hand, she made her way back to where he still lay sleeping. Freckles came beside her, nuzzling her in an apologetic manner.

"So you decide to behave today? It is okay. I know you do not like having guests around." The horse whinnied.

She turned to Éomer who was being woken up by a persistent Firefoot, who took to the method of licking his owner's face. In the end, the Marshal, who had had enough of the wet abuse, woke up and pushed his horse away. Ithílwyn threw his clothes at him and laughed. "Your friend is still asleep in the cave!" she reminded him, absentmindedly rubbing Freckles' back. He gave a look of terror and hurriedly put his clothes on.

"I'll see you when you get back!" she called out as she mounted Freckles and rode off. He stared at her diminishing figure and remembered what they did the night before. He cursed.

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**Song is by Sara Bareilles, Send Me The Moon.**

**I love, love, love this song. And also I think she is an amazing artist, singer and songwriter. Cheers.**

**If you guys wanna recommend songs, I am totally up for it. Love music and I would love it if you guys recommend songs to me. Bye!**


	10. Doubts

**Hey all. First of all, many a thousand apologies for not posting sooner, it's just one of those things, you know...okay, maybe you don't. Anyways, here is the big One Oh, and it is the longest chapter yet, which explains why it took a while. Thanks to all those for reading, and urm, enjoy this chapter. Any comments, reviews criticism and just anything really, are very welcome. Also, all characters in the story except the ones I made up belong to the amazing genius that is Professor Tolkien, who should have lived a hundred more years so that he could have written a commentary on the history of Middle Earth (salivating) and so that I could meet him. Ugh! **

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Chapter 10

Doubts

As she rode back to her cave, Ithílwyn could not escape the guilt that plagued her. She had left her patient unattended, alone, while she had spent the entire night with Éomer. At the thought, she smiled, her guilt vanishing. She had no regrets as to what she had done last night, and she never would. She dismounted quickly and allowed her horse to wander. She rushed into the cave and came to her patient's side. She hoped that her negligence did not affect the Rider's health too greatly. She looked him over and sighed, relieved that he was fine. His fever seemed to be alleviating and she hoped he would awake soon. She knew he needed another dose of medicine and she quickly left to gather water to boil. She wondered what to serve for breakfast this morning. Would porridge be enough for the three of them? She wondered where Éomer was. He should have been back by now. Surely she had not travel at such a quick pace that he could not keep up on his battle worn horse? She brought a large bucket of water back and had to light a fire as it had not been tended and had died out in the night. She set the water boiling in another one of her pots and sat down by the fire. Out of the corner of her eye she spied the cloak that she had received from Éomer a year ago strewn on the floor. She reached out and took it, shaking it out and folding it. Unconsciously, she held the fabric to her face and inhaled the scent. The cloak smelled very much like her favourite golden haired warrior. A smile appeared upon her face as she got up and walked to the makeshift larder in the back of the cave. The smile disappeared when she realized her supplies were at a dangerously low quantity. Most of her meat and fruits had vanished. She sighed and checked her flour bag. It only held enough to bake a few more loaves. She would have to bake several loaves if she intended to feed all three of them. She was glad the rest of Éomer's éored had left. She would not have been able to feed them all. She scooped out a bowlful of flour and made her way to the fire. With a little water and salt (she had no yeast at hand), she quickly formed the dough. When she had enough, she got up to retrieve a pan. She found the pan and was carrying it back to the fireplace, almost dropping it when she saw Éomer at his friend's side. He turned to her and gave her a slight nod. All of a sudden, she felt an overwhelming bashfulness bubble up inside her. Her cheeks grew warm and she could not bring herself to look into his eyes. She headed for the fireplace, intending to bake the bread. She did not hear him speak as she placed the pan inside the fireplace and felt it heat up. She put the dough in, which fell with a 'plop' and wondered why he was so silent. She covered the pan with a lid and let the dough bake.

"He is faring better this morning," she spoke out at last, feeling a little uncomfortable at the present situation. She felt her eyes on her back and she turned to meet him. His not green, yet not brown eyes turned to stare back at her.

"He will wake soon?" he inquired after a short moment of silence. She nodded, noting the concern in his face.

"He woke yesterday, when I returned. He will wake soon, his fever is beginning to break already." His sigh of relief was audible.

"I suppose he is dear to you," she commented, stealing a glance at him. She knew what his answer would be, she could sense his concern whenever his friend was mentioned.

"He is my oldest friend. We grew up together in Aldburg. We went on many adventures, imaginary of course, when we were young boys." She wondered what Éomer was like when he was young. Naughty? Mischievious?

"We used to spend our time wisely by teasing and tormenting my sister," he said with a distant expression and chuckled.

"You have a sister?" she asked, surprised. He had family?

He nodded in reply. He laughed as he saw her expression.

"Yes, I have a sister. She is fair and beautiful, but proud. A sharp tongue she wields, though she would prefer a sword. If she could be a man, she would." Ithílwyn was confused. What kind of sister did he have? However, he spoke of her with fondness his words did not reveal and Ithílwyn wondered what it would be like to have an older brother. It would probably be lovely.

"Why does she wish to be a man?" she asked.

"She does not think womanly duties honourable. Instead, she wants to take part in battle, to her that is worth valour and honour." He snorted.

"Is she a good swordsman?" she asked.

"I do not know. I have prohibited her from training. She is a woman and she does not belong in the battlefield. She is not safe out there. As adamant as she is of yearning to risk her life at the marred hands of vile beasts, I cannot let her. She knows naught of the destruction that happens, of the pain, the sorrow. A flower belongs in the garden, not a blood soaked field."

"You love her," she stated rather blatantly, and felt embarrassed for doing so.

He stared at her with an odd look. "Yes. She is my sister, and the only member of my family left. But she does not see."

"You should tell her the truth; explain why you will not let her pursue her ambitions."

"They are foolish ambitions and she is sensible enough to understand." She reached out and held his hand, squeezing it a little. "I'm sure she will understand if you tell her that you care for her too much, and that is why you cannot bear for her to suffer."

He sighed and gave her a tight smile. She knew he cared for his sister; she only wondered if his sister knew. Finríel once told her that most men were ignorant of expressing affection to the people they loved most. She wondered if Éomer was that way too. She sensed that he did not want to talk further about his sister. Family seemed to be a sensitive issue to him. He kept far too many secrets and feelings in his heart.

"Tell me more about your friend." She let go of his hand and placed it on her lap. She was insatiably curious about him. Éomer flashed her one of his rare boyish smiles, the kind that made her heart soar.

"Firstly, his name is Aldric son of Aldwulf. He hit me with a stone when I was six and then I pushed him into the lake two days later." He laughed and she could not help but let out a giggle. "That was how we became friends, after we called a truce, of course. After that, we went on many adventures all around the plains of the Eastmark. I swear, there are trees still bearing our knife marks. Then we grew up, we trained as Riders together; we even took our oaths to serve the king together. He is my brother, as much as Éowyn is my sister." He smiled at her. All was silent in the cave once more. The water boiled at that moment and Ithílwyn remembered that she had to brew Aldric's medicine. She got up, ignoring the soreness between her legs and left to find her herbs. Once she had found them, she threw them in to the boiling water. She wondered if she would need to go hunting today. She decided to make oatmeal for this morning's breakfast.

"Would you like me to help you?" he offered.

"Uh, yes. Urm, could you fetch more water?" He nodded, took two buckets and left the cave. She stole another peek at Aldric who was sleeping peacefully and continued stirring the oatmeal. She decided to pick some berries to accompany the oatmeal. By the time he returned, she had ladled out two bowls of cooked oats, the baked bread and had a plate of washed blackberries ready. Aldric's medicine was simmering away. He set the water filled buckets down, impressing Ithílwyn with not spilling any water.

"Come and eat." She offered a bowl to him. He sat down and took a spoonful.

"You are not sore?" he asked. The spoonful of oatmeal she had just swallowed rose up, causing her to choke. Forcing herself to swallow the lump of oatmeal, she began to cough violently. He quickly went to fetch her some water, of which she drank deeply and gratefully. "My apologies, I should not have posed such a question. It is just that, I have heard, that it makes one sore," he explained awkwardly. She smiled weakly, knowing that her cheeks had turned red.

"A little sore," she replied truthfully in a small voice. "But it is no matter," she added quickly, not wanting him to worry because she felt fine. He averted his gaze from her. She swallowed and stared at her oatmeal, wondering what was wrong.

"I did not mean to seduce you last night," he said, clearing his throat after. He looked at her apologetically. Ithílwyn gulped down another spoon of oatmeal, finding it bitter to her taste.

"I should not have done so and I am sorry." She doesn't meet his eyes, and feels the back of her eyes sting as her teas cloud her vision. All was silent between them save for the crackling of the fire and the sound of their cutlery as they finished their breakfast without words. She got up to wash her bowl, wondering what she had done wrong.

"Ithílwyn," he called. She shut her eyes tightly and turned her back against him. "You should not blame yourself; it is I who asked it of you. It will not happen again," she said in a tight voice, clutching the bowl to her chest, painfully aware that her heart felt like it was being sliced with cold metal. She blinked her tears away and walked away from him. She wanted nothing more now than for his friend to recover so that he would leave her alone in her cave. She disappeared to the back where she left her unwashed bowl on the cave floor, grabbed her hunting gear and flitted out of the cave before Éomer could say a word.

She knew she did not tell him the truth. She certainly did not regret her actions, but he did and she wished that all that had happened back in the cave did not take place. And that she was not crying as she trudged through the forest with her bow in her hand and her quiverful of arrows on her back. She wiped her wet face with the back of her hand and wished that she had woken up this morning, and he had vanished, and there would be nothing remaining but a beautiful dream. But, it was not to be. He was here, back in her cave, feeling sorry for giving her a wonderful gift the night before. Was there something not right with her? Was it because she was not deemed attractive enough? A man as handsome as he should have many female admirers. She was fairly certain that he had seen his fair share of beautiful women. He lived in the court, and she had often heard that women of the court were beautiful; with perfumed skin and elegant hair arrangements, dressed in silk and satins. She looked down at her dress, which resembled more of a sack, what with its ugly colour and brown stains. She must be filthy and unkempt in comparison to the beautiful ladies of the court. How could she possibly compare? After all, he was the Third Marshal, and close kin to the king himself. Sighing to herself as she leaped over a fallen tree trunk covered in moss as she found herself regretting the decision not to heed Branleah's advice and participate in the quarterly market earlier this year. She would have been able to buy new dresses had she done so. She continued, running this time, her footfalls light and swift, as to keep her unnoticed by any animals. She stood still and crouched low, spotting two hares in front of her. They were small in size, but Ithílwyn knew she and her guests would not have any food left before long. She shifted her position and drew out a light arrow. She aimed and let the arrow sail through the air. It hit both the hares, just as she had wanted. It was a small success for her and she smiled. She went over to her kill and took the two hares. She pulled her arrow out and washed it with water from her waterskin before placing it back in her quiver. She felt a little happier than before, now that she knew that she would be fed. Slowly, she made her way back, hoping he was not around so that she would not need to hear any more of his painful apologies. She took a few more steps before she heard the sound of metal clashing from a distance. Her heart began pounding and she prayed that the sound did not originate from any Orc. She moved carefully towards the source of the sound, hiding behind the trunks of the trees, her eyes shifting to the left and the right. If any Orc saw her, she was good as dead. She crouched behind a shrub and peeked, hoping her heartbeat was not audible enough to give her away. She saw two large and dark Uruk-hai and gasped. What was worse was that they were pounding on the Third Marshal, who was bleeding from his nose and the side of his head. He was armed with only a knife, but he was making full use of as he fought the gruesome creatures. But his opponents were fully armed Uruk-hai, beasts trained to destroy and murder. She knew he would not last long against their large, crudely made swords. Her hands found themselves moving again, and she quickly drew an arrow just as one of the Uruks knocked Éomer's knife out of his hand. She heard the low, guttural laugh of the Uruk and shuddered. She let loose the arrow and shot the Uruk in the back of the head. Its comrade turned to her and charged. She shot two arrows, one in his chest and the other between his eyes. She gasped, clutching at her chest as she fell to the floor in relief. She picked herself up and ran over to Éomer, who looked confused and exhausted. He staggered as he tried to get on his feet. She offered him her hand, which was still shaking after the dangerous encounter. She surveyed the surroundings, hoping that there would be no more Uruk-hai or Orcs in the vicinity.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice shaking. She dropped her bow and used both her hands to examine him. She spotted a small cut on his lip and several bruised on his arm. He winced as she pressed on a sore spot.

"No where am I wounded, save my pride," he replied. She pressed hard on another bruise near his shoulder. He cried out in pain.

"Stop being stubborn and let me examine you."

"I am not hurt," he insisted. She gripped his shoulder and he groaned.

"I believe you," she replied, rolling her eyes at him. She left him and went to pick up her bow and the two hares she had killed. How many times had she heard a man deny that they were hurt when they need her assistance? She sighed and came back to Éomer, who still looked dazed.

"Where did they come from?" she asked him as they walked. She noticed that his legs were not injured gravely and was deeply relieved. The presence of Orcs in her forest made her worried. They had not been this close to her cave before. Despite his lack of injury, he struggled to keep up with her anxious pacing. She did not mention anything, thinking that it would be best not to further injure his battered pride.

"That I do not know. I went out to look for you when those beasts attacked me." She had much to think about. She knew the Orcs frequented the forests as they provided quicker routes to the villages. But why were there only two? Scouts? She did not know Orcs had scouts, nor did any form of scouting. Surely there had to be others. Where were they? A look of horror descended upon her. The cave!

She thought of Aldric who was in the cave, alone and vulnerable. Her lip curled in disgust at the thought of those foul things touching or sniffing around her cave. She ran forward and heard Éomer's groan behind her. He was keeping pace with her, but he was too slow. He could not exert himself, or risk worsening conditions. She turned around.

"Keep running," he instructed hoarsely. His hair was messy and wisps of his blond hair framed the sides of his face. He was exhausted. "I am fine," he insisted again.

"Of that I have no doubt," she replied. "Aldric might be in danger. The cave is unguarded." His eyes widened.

"We must hurry," he says grimly. She nods knowingly and looks at him. "You must hurry. I, I will follow behind you."

"But Éomer, what about you?"

"Whatever do you mean? Aldric is in danger!"

"What if you are attacked?"

He snorted and wiped his bloody nose. "I have a better chance at fending for myself than Aldric, now go! Quickly!" He actually pushed her away and she ran as fast as her feet could take her, her eyes and ears alerted to any sound or movement out of the ordinary. She reached her cave soon and cautiously observed from behind the blackberry bush. Her senses told her that there was no one. Still, she was afraid and alert; clutching her bow tightly in one hand and an arrow placed in position should she be caught off guard. She finally made her way inside and almost sank to her knees in relief when she saw her warm and merry fire and Aldric lying peacefully, still sleeping. She was so terrified; she hoped her heart would not fall out of her chest. She crossed over to Aldric and looked closely at him. His breathing was steady and even and there was some colour in his cheeks. She breathed heavily, still relieved that the Orcs had not come too near the cave yet.

"You scared me," she admonished the unconscious Rider, who merely squirmed. Exhaling loudly, she shook her hands, hoping they would stop shaking. She added more wood to the fire as she was now shivering at noontime. Nearly killing Éomer when he returned with the hares in his hand later, she was petrified, and unnerved. She had never been this scared in her life, not since Finríel passed away had she been so shaken. It was now Éomer's turn to ask her if she was alright. She nodded, but her hands were trembling. "Just a little scared, that is all. Uh, I, you need help," she diverted, noticing his bloody face and bruises on his arms. She made him sit down and tried to breathe at an even pace.

"Where are you injured? And do not talk to me about the pride of men." She stole a glance at her bow and quiver at the corner of her eye. She helped him remove his shirt and the heated moments of the night before flashed in her head. The ugly bruises and welts that had formed were not in her memory. Several would not bloom until the next day.

"You must have missed the company of your sword," she remarked, noticing he was tensed. She returned with an herb infused oil, more herbs, a mortar and a pestle as well as strips of cloths. Her body was no longer trembling, and she was grateful for work to distract her from worrying about the Orcs. She exhaled, hoping she would remain calm in order to treat his injuries properly.

"Yes, I did not think I would need it, a misjudgement that pains me to admit. I would have had my assailants writhing in their own black blood before they could touch a hair on my head," he replied, in a harsh and angry tone. She supposed Orcs were not one of his favourite things in Aldburg. Soaking a cloth in warm water, she bathed each wound while he cleaned the blood from his nose. Saddened that the beautiful golden skin she had caressed the night before was now covered in bruises and bumps. When she was done, she began to massage the oil into his wounds, causing him to grunt and occasionally cry out in pain. She tried to be quick, as she did not want to hear him suffer any longer. He watched her as she crushed the herbs in the mortar with the pestle in silence. She did not say a word either. She made a poultice which she applied over the larger and bloodier bruises. She bandaged those places and wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress.

"There, you should feel better tomorrow," she says politely, tears forming in her eyes when she saw how many times he was bandaged. She helped him put his shirt back on and began cleaning the mess that she had made earlier. The routine of healing a person eased her jittery nerves a little, but she strapped her blade to her side. She spied his sword by Aldric and brought it over to him. He looked up at her questioningly.

"In case," she replied and she knew that he had understood what exactly she was trying to imply. He nodded and he gingerly took it from her with his better arm. Nervously, she prepared the hares for cooking. She skinned them, intending to keep the hides for use in the winter. She thought it would be best to bake the hares as she had close to nothing in her store. She went out her cave cautiously while Éomer slept and dug up some wild yams and picked a good handful of mushrooms. After washing them, she chopped the yams and placed them together with the mushrooms and the hares. She added herbs, salt and pepper and baked it. She turned to Éomer, who was now awake and had been watching her. She ignored him, not wanting to address him when she was still afraid. Aldric had begun moving his lips, and his fingers were lightly grasping his blanket. He was about to wake soon. That eased some of her tension. She got up and took some water to drink. She handed some to Éomer, who drank thirstily. She brought him another cup and watched him looking back at her.

"Ithílwyn," he called softly, once he had finished drinking. She was at the firepit, her back turned to him, about to check on the hares.

"Yes?" she whispered, hoping that he would not hear her because she did not want to hold a conversation now.

"What are you going to do?"

"I do not know," she admitted, despising how weak and terrified she sounded. A few drops dripped down her chin and she wiped them away hastily. And then she felt strong arms around her, and the heat of him through her back. She turned around and let him hold her as her tears streamed down her face and dampened his shirt.

"No Orc has ever been so close to the cave." Her throat tightened with emotion and she ended up gasping for air. She felt him rub her back, and she was glad that he was there.

"Where did they come from? Oh, Éomer, they will find this cave soon! And then I will be killed." He let go of her and smoothed her hair. He smiled at her and wiped her eyes with his thumb. His green, yet brown eyes stared back at her.

"You will not die, Ithílwyn." She averted his gaze and looked down but he tilted her chin to face him once more.

"They will not find you if you do not remain here." Her eyes widened.

"Do not remain here? Where will I go then, Éomer? This cave is my home. My mother is buried here! I cannot just, just leave. I love this cave; it is where I grew up. All my fondest memories are scattered around the cave, in the forest. I cannot leave it behind me."

"You will die if you remain here." She knew he was right and she sighed in defeat. He held her cheek in the palm of his hand, and she wondered if he was going to kiss her. Instead, he stroked her cheek tenderly.

"You could come to Aldburg with me. You will be safer there, and you will not be alone. There are people there you may forge friendships with. You would not need to worry about food anymore, and there is plenty of room in the city for you, and for Freckles." She was deeply touched by his offer, and she wondered if there was a limit to how much she could love him.

"I understand that it is a difficult decision for you to make, and that you need time to ponder about it. But you have saved my life and also the lives of my men. And for that, I am forever indebted to you. Will you not let me repay you?" His plea had her in a dilemma. She was torn into two. She looked around the cave and remembered all she had done with her mother: the first day, or night rather, that she stepped into the cave as well as Finríel's kindness. She thought about her walks with Finríel, where she was taught each herb and plant and tree and bush. She remembered their laughter on quiet nights, as well as Finríel's lullabies when she could not sleep. How could she forget the quiet afternoons when Finríel taught her to read books and to write words and languages from distant places? She missed her mother's kisses, and embraces. The times when they travelled together to Aldburg, selling their goods, teasing each other.

"I cannot," she replied, shaking her head. This was her home.

"Ithílwyn."

"You will not understand," she answered, pulling herself away from his hold. She wiped her face with her hands and took a deep breath.

"Yes, I do not understand why you are content to remain and to meet your doom?"

"I am not...," she began, furious that he did not understand that she could not possibly leave her home, her life behind her. However, Aldric was moaning and the two turned their attention towards him. They saw his eyes open and blink.

"Éomer?" he croaked, squinting. Ithílwyn let Éomer got to his friend she stood behind him as she watched Aldric, hoping that he was healing quickly. However, he was still weak, judging from his feeble movements.

"I see I am not yet dead," Aldric asked. Éomer chuckled and shook his head. He loked back at Ithílwyn and gestured to her.

"This woman healed you. Her name is Ithílwyn."

"It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance." Aldric smiled at her and she realized that he was, like Éomer, a handsome man. Ithílwyn moved forward and sat next to Éomer.

"How do you feel?" Éomer asked.

"I feel as if ten Uruk-hai had just sat on me," his friend replied and smiled. Éomer laughed and Ithílwyn wondered why he chose to frown more often. He looked more youthful and handsome when he smiled.

"Come and eat," she invited, handing him the bread she baked earlier that morning and the last bits of cheese she had left. He winked at her as he took the food from her. Éomer gave him an odd stare whilst Aldric shrugged and bit into his bread. Ithílwyn went to take more medicine for Aldric as well as serve the baked hare meat. From behind her, she heard Éomer recounting all that had happened from the time he had fallen until now. She returned and placed the bowl of medicine by Aldric. Handing a bowl of meat, yams and mushrooms to Éomer, she started eating from her own bowl.

"Thank you, Ithílwyn." She nodded shyly, and watched as he finished his food and the medicine that she had given him.

"You need to rest, Aldric," Éomer warns, taking the bowl away from him. "You need to gather your strength."

"I feel wonderful, Éomer. Please do not pretend to be my mother." Ithílwyn snickered and received an angry glare from Éomer.

"I apologise, my lady, no one should be in his presence for such long periods of time. It can be an excruciating torture." Ithílwyn nodded and the two laughed, much to Éomer's frustration.

"Aldric, I am in no mood for jests."

"No, you never were," came Aldric's drawl.

"We must leave soon, and I will not haul you back lifelessly to Aldburg," Éomer finished sternly.

"Alright," Aldric exhaled. "I know that. In fact, I feel rather sleepy all of a sudden. How long have you two been awake? You both look exhausted, maybe you two should get some rest too." He yawned and Éomer helped adjust his blanket. They finished their meal and watched Aldric drifting off to sleep. Ithílwyn moved away and began tidying up her cave. Éomer came to help her when Aldric had fallen asleep.

"I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. You do not know how relieved I am now that Aldric has recovered."

"I am a healer, it is my duty."

"I also forgot to thank you earlier for saving my life, once more. I suppose I should be accustomed to it by now."

"Me saving your life?" she asked. He nodded and she laughed as she washed the bowls and plates and cups.

"Perhaps one day you will save mine," she teased.

"I look forward to that day then," he replied and gazed at her intensely. She turned away and looked at the cup she was holding in her hand, feeling uncomfortable. She finished washing the utensils in silence and Ithílwyn began drying them with a dry cloth.

"We should take watches should there be any threats tonight," he suggested. She turned to him.

"Yes," she agreed, and lowered her head, her eyes closed.

"I'll take first watch. You should go and rest." She nodded tiredly, wiping the last pot quickly before storing the utensils. Then she took out her sleeping furs, as well as Éomer's, which belonged to her mother. He saw her gesture and thanked her. She made no reply but nodded and laid down on the furs, her back turned to him. He sat near the entrance of the cave, beginning the first watch. Meanwhile, Ithílwyn shut her eyes, hoping that sleep would overcome her. She had not slept for a long time and she could feel her weary body groaning for rest. Her heart would not stop beating, however and her mind was busy with a thousand thoughts. She turned on her side and heard nothing. She lay that way for a while, eyes closed but as awake as before. Turning once more, she resigned herself to the knowledge that she would get no sleep now. She sat up in her furs and looked around. Éomer turned to her and cocked an eyebrow.

"It is not yet your watch. Go back to sleep."

"I know," she sighed. "It is just, I cannot seem to fall asleep. Why don't you get rest now and I will take your watch."

"To be honest with you, I cannot sleep either." She threw her balanket off her body and poured some hot water in a small pot. Sh eplaced a few died chamomile and jasmine flowerheads inside and let the flowerheads steep before pouring the hot water out. The subtle fragrance wafting out eased her anxiety and she took another deep breath. She poured more water in the pot and took it, along with two cups over to the entrance, where Éomer sat.

"Tea?" he guessed, an amused look on his face. She nodded and smiled tightly. She poured him a cup and handed it to him before pouring another cup for herself.

"AAll is quiet and still," he reported.

"That does not necessarily guarantee our safety," she stated and took a sip.

"You are right," he says dejectedly and sighs. "For even though they are large creatures, they have the ability to move with stealth." She did not comment further, but let the heat of the tea seep through her hands.

"Tell me about your mother," he asked suddenly. She turned to him, surprised at his question, wondering what purpose his question served.

"Only if you tell me about your mother," she boldly replied and she found his surprised reaction oddly satisfying.

"I suppose it is only fair that I comply," he replied and smiled charmingly at her.

"What would you like to know?" she asked.

"Everything. You are so mysterious. Who is your father, are you sure you do not remember anything about him?"

Ithílwyn wondered why he was asking about her father when he had implied that they were about to share information on their respective mothers. "I honestly do not know," she replied bluntly.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I do not know my father. I do not remember his name and I do not remember his face, or the sound of his voice, or what his character was." He seemed puzzled by her answer and he grew silent, slowly sipping his tea.

"Why did your mother choose to live in the forest? Did she have a disagreement with your father?"

She burst out laughing at that. She had never thought telling her story would cause so much confusion.

"No, no. Finríel is not my birth mother. She found me in the woods, lost. She adopted me as her own daughter. I am fairly certain that she has never met my father." She saw now that he understood and laughed again. Pouring herself another cup of tea, she noticed his furrowed brow.

"Then, who is your birth mother?"

She shrugged. "I do not know. My sister told me she died at my birth."

"Your sister?!" she resisted the urge to laugh.

"My older half-sister. She took care of me when I was born. She told me that our father left when I was very young. He did not tell her where he was going or why, for that matter. She was married already, when she took me in. She and her husband were good people. They never had children, though," she added. She had not thought of her sister in a long time. And the memory brought tears to her eyes. She quickly wiped them away, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"What happened to her, and her husband? And your father too?"

She exhaled and tapped the rim of her cup. "My father never returned. An Orc raid burned the village that I lived in. My sister and I ran from the burning village to the safety of the forest. Her husband had died trying to save us. We ran as fast as we could. She told me not to look back, and I did not. And I never saw her again." She gulped and blinked quickly so the tears would not gather.

"I ran into the woods and got lost," she laughed darkly. "Then Finríel found me, and saved me." She smiled at him and he looked at her with sympathy she did not need. She rubbed her eyes and drank her tea.

"She raised you here ever since then?" Ithílwyn nodded in reply.

"For nine years. Then she passed away and the last two years I spent on my own."

"You are very brave to thrive on your own in this forest." She smiled at his comment.

"I am too acquainted with this cave, this beautiful forest, there has never been a reason for me to leave." She flashed a wistful smile at him.

"Was she good to you?" he asked.

"Who? Finríel? Definitely. The very best mother a daughter could wish or hope for."

"From what I hear from you, she must have been a wonderful woman. I would have liked to meet her."

"Yes, I think she would like you," she teased and laughed. He chuckled. "It is your turn to tell me about your mother."

He looked as if he was about to protest but stopped and pursed his lips. Ithílwyn wondered why he was reluctant to talk about his own mother. He took a deep breath and began.

"My mother was a princess, as she was sister to the king and also daughter to a king. She was marvellously beautiful, so the minstrels sing, and she loved to laugh and smile. She loved my father very much, and he worshipped the ground she stepped on."

She sighed internally, a sigh rich with envy.

"She was not pleased however, with his regular movements on the plains of the Mark. She did not approve, so to speak, of his intense hatred of the Orcs. My father died in battle when I was a boy. My mother grieved, and grew so ill that she followed him soon after. My uncle was deeply grieved when he heard about the death of my parents. He ordered us to be sent to Edoras, where he resided as king. He took care of us as he would his own children, and I am ever grateful for that." She discovered that he did not spoke of his mother warmly, that there was disapproval in his tone of voice when he spoke of her. She wondered why.

"It must have been a difficult time for you and your sister," she commented. He looked at her with liquid eyes and smiled wistfully.

"Yes, but it took place a long time ago. I am not a man who looks back at the past." He averted his gaze and finished his tea.

"But it is memory, the past. It is what shaped you to be the man you are today. It is why you rarely smile, or laugh and choose to frown and grimace instead!" He stared at her in an expression of restrained anger. She bit her lip in regret and wanted to slap herself for bursting out like that.

"I apologise." He did not look at her nor acknowledge her apology. She finished her tea and thought of a time when the two of them could be together with no more stiffness and awkwardness between them. She cleared her throat, for the silence had grown uncomfortable.

"How are your bruises?" she asked, because she did want to know how he was faring, and also because she thought he would take no offense at such a question.

"Much better, thank you." He did not sound at all grateful and her heart sank.

"I did not mean to offend you," she admitted.

"I know." He sighed.

"I am glad your bruises are healing." He made no reply and she grew exasperated. Clearly, he did not want to talk anymore. And she did not want to converse with someone who would not open his mouth. She cleared the cups away, as well as the pot.

"You should sleep," he said from behind her. She turned her head and nodded.

"So, that was that," she whispered to herself.

She lay down again, her back turned, once again, towards Éomer. She did not want to meet his searching eyes, or his furious expression. She had affection for him, and dare she suppose, that he returned her affection. Yet, at times, there would be moments when it would be uncomfortable to keep a conversation with him. She lay down on her side and drew circles on her furs, enjoying the peace in the cave. Nothing could be heard, save the cacophony of the insects outside of which she had long gotten used to. She shut her eyes, hoping that she would live in this cave for a long time. She shut her eyes and let her exhaustion dull her mind into sleep.


	11. A Decision Made

**Hey all, I hope Chapter 10 was alright, because I was looking back at the chapters that I posted earlier and was duly humiliated at the amount of errors that I had so carelessly made. This means also that I might not be posting as soon as before, so forgive me! Also, I had lots of fun writing this chapter, even though it was hard to get by the awkward parts. Also please feel free to correct me if I have made any mistakes, especially since I am so horrible at remembering details...Sigh. Anyways, happy reading! :)**

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Decisions

Éomer watched the leaves on the trees rustling in the wind. Though his grip on the hilt of his sword did not loosen, he felt oddly calm. Ithílwyn had lain down on her furs a while ago and had promptly fallen asleep. Aldric was also sleeping well, and the cave was at peace. He hoped Aldric would be able to ride soon, seeing as colour was slowly creeping back into his face. They could not sit here and wait to be murdered by Orcs, not even Ithílwyn could. This forest was infested with them. He remembered when she led them through the forest, avoiding the traps she had made for the Orcs. had she been fighting them alone, all this while? He turned to look at her sleeping figure, remembering the feel of her soft skin and the silk-like quality of her dark hair. 'Not that I know much about fabrics,' he mused and turned his gaze back to the entrance. Her ability to endure in her home, prone to Orc attacks, was remarkable. His keen eyes searched for any movement beyond the trees. He was seated on the ground, right at the entrance to the cave. The cave floor was below ground level and the hole of the cave was not found easily, as he knew from experience. He wondered briefly how Ithílwyn's adopted mother had stumbled upon this cave. A bent willow tree whose branches reached the ground provided the entrance to lie hidden in the shadows. The light from the fire might have given them away had Ithílwyn not placed a screen over the entrance earlier. He liked the cave very much, he had to admit. As Ithílwyn had pointed out, this was her home and Éomer could tell, somehow, that this home was a shelter and a vessel of many sweet and happy memories. Ithílwyn moved with a familiar grace in her home, a movement which he found strangely attractive. He thought briefly to himself that he would loath to part with this cave if he was the one who had lived here for such a long time. He had never lived for too long in one place. He was born and raised in Aldburg, and was uprooted to Edoras for a while before he was appointed Third Marshal and was obligated to return to Aldburg again.

From the entrance, a small flight of steps had been fashioned, just two, but like everything else in the cave, it was practical and homely. The cave was cool and dark, save for the dim light of the fire, which had now reduced in size, but it reminded him of home, though he would not call Edoras, or Aldburg for that matter, his home. He noted her furnishings, not having the leisure of time to do so before, his mind having been occupied of late. He noted the small bookshelf, with books crammed inside and smiled. He noted her pots and pans, her bow and her quiver, as well as the arrows nestled inside. He saw the little nook in the wall of the cave by the fire pit where he remembered she stored her cooking mitten. He thought about their conversation earlier, and was glad to know more about her. But he knew that there was more to learn, and all that he had learned earlier still did not quite make out. He wondered if she was curious about her own past. Surely she would, he knew he would. He heard her shift in her sleep and he turned to her again. Her back had been turned towards him earlier, but now that she had turned over, he could see her front. She was so fair, and her skin seemed to glow in the fire light. The expression on her face was calm and that made him glad. He wondered what decision she would come to: to remain and meet a horrible end, or to leave her home and her memories. Neither option appeared less grim. He realized then that her mother must be buried in the forest, and not far from the cave. He stretched, feeling the soreness and pain his injuries caused. That was another reason to add to the many she had not to leave her home. He sighed, his thoughts drifting to when she had burst out, revealing her emotions earlier. Was it true that he rarely laughed? Or smiled? And that it was because of the secrets that he kept? How had she been so observant this whole while? He sighed, stretching his arm out and disliking the look of wrapped cloth around his limbs. He was not uncomfortable, but he was reminded of the brutality of the Uruk, and that he had been helpless. He tried to focus on his current duty, that is to look out for any unforeseen danger, but his head turned to Ithílwyn's direction. She had bundled herself up in her furs and was making soft, contented noises. He kept the mental picture in his mind; it had been an adorable scene. Quietly, he got up and added a few more dry twigs and branches to the fire, fanning it a while to get the fire hot. He had a feeling that Aldric would be better on the morrow. He was sleeping fitfully, very much like a child, and he had seemed so much like his old self earlier when he had woken and eaten. He wanted to leave, but the desire was born out of duty. He had many things to oversee in the Eastmark and he did not like to be away from Aldburg for too long without a proper reason. He hoped the men had already arrived safely and that the captains were faring well without him, hoping also that there would be no Orc threats while he was away facing a possible one in the forest. He had been born in dark times and still lived in dark times. He wanted to know if it was his fate to die soon, or live to see the light. As cynical as he was, he dearly wished for the latter. The people of Rohan deserved to see peace, enjoy prosperity and be happy in their land. He sat still, his eyes searching through the gaps of the makeshift screen for any sign of unwanted intruders. He did not hear any peculiar sounds nor did anything occur that was not out of the ordinary. He glanced once more at Ithílwyn and the thought of kissing her crept into his mind. He had never lain with a woman like her. Most of the women he bedded were bold, demanding, not that he complained, he was male, and hot blooded after all. But Ithílwyn had a quiet confidence about her, though she was shy. She had demanded for him, but it was not in the way any woman had done before. They had only asked for their pleasure, it seemed to him that she asked for his pleasure. She was not selfish, and the look on her face when he was making love to her..., he had never seen it on the face of any other woman. It was different, for to him, lovemaking was a means of release, no emotion attached whatsoever. It was to satisfy one's lusts but she had somehow shown him that it carried a much greater significance. It terrified him then, because he was not quite certain he was ready to bear such a burden. He regretted the words he had spoken to her that had injured her feelings. He did not mean to convey such a message. He was truly, and deeply mournful for he had taken what was not his. Her innocence belonged to a better man than he, one who would not shy away from marriage as a child shies away from a whip. She deserved a man who would love and cherish her, such a love as a battle worn warrior he could not possibly give. The only comfort he took was that at the very least, he had given her pleasure as he had also taken. He did not have many experiences with virgins. Most, if not all, had been misjudgements on his part.

But he had always taken pride in that he pleasured all the women who shared his bed and that he always had enough self control to spill his seed outside any womb. With Ithílwyn, he had almost broken his streak. He did not feel strong, but weak. He was fortunate enough to remember to withdraw from her before he spent himself. It was the only time, besides his first, that he had come so close to losing the control he usually exerted. It was something he prided himself on, especially since he did not want to undertake the responsibility of fathering a child with a woman he had spent a night with. He was born of noble descent and bearing a bastard was not a noble thing to do. He did not think he had the strength of mind and body to lie with her again, lest he lose control and face severe consequences. Not that it was easy to resist her, but he would have to, even if she begged, which he doubted, as she was not shameless, and that he had probably lost all his appeal when he had hurt her with careless words. He was not as smart of a man as he thought he was.

The sky lightened in its hues and Éomer got up gingerly. It was now her watch and he had told her that he would wake her. But when her was two steps away from her and crouching right at her face, he could not bring himself to commit such a crime. She was a peace, her expression a stark contrast to the worried look on her face when she had been awake and in much distress. He stroked her cheek lightly, being careful not to startle her. She had a strange beauty in her unique features. She could not possibly be Rohirrim. Rohirrim women were bonny, curvy and sunny. They were never in position of dark hair, the darkest shade being a chestnut brown. Ithílwyn possessed none of these qualities. She was slender and dark haired, from the top of her head, to her arched eyebrows to the thatch of hair at her womanhood, he smiled naughtily. Her hair lay fanned out about her head. He picked up a lock of hair and was surprised at how soft it felt, forgetting that he had held it the night before. He vaguely remembered tousling her hair when he was ravishing her the night before. She made a small sound and shifted again, startling him. He decided then, to let her sleep and went back to his post, amused and afraid. Sometime later Aldric awoke and Éomer was glad that he had company. Éomer motioned for him to be quiet, as Ithílwyn was still asleep. Aldric nodded understandingly. Through the gaps in the screen, Éomer could see it was already dawn, but he knew Ithílwyn needed more rest than she thought she did. Aldric was healthy, but still weak. He had lost much blood and he needed to eat. He felt very much like a boy again as he went over to Ithílwyn's store of food, as if he was eight and was stealing from Aldburg's well-stocked larder. He was presently shocked to find that it was almost bare. She had fed them so well that she had kept nothing for herself, which was why she had gone hunting the day before. Realization sank in. Why had she not said a word? He sighed and took the last of the cured meat and two apples and returned to his best friend's side. He fed Aldric, only taking an apple himself and none of the cured meat before giving him more of the medicine Ithílwyn had made the day before.

"She is beautiful, is she not?" Aldric asked in a jovial tone, noting the sullen look on his friend's face. His friend shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, I take it she is not the kind of woman you are used to, then." He continued, looking at Éomer suggestively.

"No," he replied in a quiet and flat tone, breathing heavily through his nostrils.

Aldric stared at his friend. "You bedded her already, didn't you?!" he whispered angrily.

Éomer made no reply. He did not even wonder how Aldric knew; he had long learned that Aldric knew him better than he would himself. And he was reminded of the guilt of his actions. Aldric cursed many times in anger and disbelief, doing so quietly, because he did not want to wake his healer.

"I do not believe you! She saved our lives and you find it convenient to bed her?! Was it so hard then, to keep your cock in your pants?" Éomer bore his friend's anger, knowing he deserved this scolding.

"You took her virginity too, didn't you?" The Third Marshal continued in his silence. "Bema help us!" Aldric cried. Éomer stared directly at Ithílwyn, feeling all the more burdened with his wrong. Aldric let out another foul word and tried to sit up, eventually succeeding. He placed a weak blow on the side of Éomer's head with his stronger arm, which had every intention to hurt, but did not.

"What were you thinking, son of Éomund? She should have lost her innocence to her husband, not a selfish, pleasure-seeking man like yourself." Aldric inhaled, fully intending to continue his tirade but Éomer interrupted him.

"I know, Aldric. It was a mistake. I will not do such a thing again." Aldric stared at him.

"For her sake, I hope you do not," he replied quietly after a while, and Éomer wondered if his friend meant to threaten him in the tone that he used. "And do not make her your mistress," his friend added.

"I promise you that I will do no such thing," Éomer ground out through gritted teeth and stormed out of the cave. He did not go far, but stood by the entrance, lingering a while. The sun was ascending in the sky and he inhaled, savouring the fresh scent of the air. Aldric was understandably upset with his conduct. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew what he had to do: avoid thinking about Ithílwyn in an indecent manner. But she was so very different, a welcome change from the women he usually related with. He stuck his sword in the ground, reminding, or rather chiding himself that he was the Third Marshal, and nephew of the king, born and bred a gentleman and he would treat her as a gentleman would treat a lady. He will wrong her no more. He stood there for a while, reminding himself once more that he was a noble man and that he could, and he would keep his lust in check. He returned to the cave as the sun rose, he had been away for quite some time. Ithílwyn was already awake and she was preparing food for them and he wondered how she was able to do so.

"Good morning," he wished her. He smiled at her.

"Good morning,"she replied and smiled back at him. It was a small smile and Éomer could tell it was not genuine. Water was boiling and she added some dried leaves in to a small pot. "There is bread and some meat," she said in a soft voice. And he thought he took all of the meat.

"Thank you," he said as she handed him a plate. She took a slice of bread and some strips of dried meat for herself. He followed suit and they ate together, once again in silence. Sensing the need to break the ominous quietness, he spoke up.

"Do you wish to hunt?" She looked up at him.

"Yes. I take it that you saw my scant supplies?" she asked and he felt as if he had intruded in her privacy.

He made no reply but glanced over at Aldric who was asleep once more. "Forgive me, it was not my place to do so."

"There is nothing to forgive, Aldric told me you fed him."

"Yes, he woke early this morn and held an interesting conversation with me." He saw her looking up at him and then she turned away.

"It is a good sign, he is gaining his strength quickly. His wounds still need time to heal and so does his arm, but I believe the worse is over for him." She poured tea for him and her, just like the night before. "Thank you, for allowing me to sleep,and for taking my watch," she said softly, not meeting his eyes.

"You needed rest," he answered.

"Don't we all? Anyway," she paused and took a deep breath. "Did anything occur last night?" He detected the worry in her voice. He shook his head and he heard her sigh in relief.

"It does not mean we are safe."

"Yes, I know," she replied despondently.

"You cannot remain here," he said bluntly. She lowered her head and stared into her cup.

"This is my home, as I have told you." She replied in a soft, yet stern voice. He kept quiet and do did she, finishing their meals in silence. Ithílwyn left a plate of food for Aldric and took away the plates while he stoked the fire and checked on Aldric. When she had stored the plates back in their rightful place, she took her bow and arrows and heard out the cave.

"Let me come with you," he pleaded, holding her arm. She shook her head, looking over to Aldric, who was still asleep. Hitting Éomer on the head had sapped his energy.

"He is safer here than the both of us outside," he replied to her gesture. She saw what he meant and nodded reluctantly. He took his sword with him and followed her out. They checked on their houses before they travelled any further. Once assured that the horses were alright, they let the beasts graze openly and Ithílwyn whispered to Freckles to watch over their cave, at which the horse nodded.

Sometime later Ithílwyn found some mushrooms and started picking them. Éomer had returned with a basket that he was now holding out for Ithílwyn to put the mushrooms in.

"You will like these," she says to him. "Finríel used to fry them with butter. It was very delicious." He sees her smiling and smiles too. She stops when she sees him and turns her attention back to her foraging.

"Where is her grave?" he asked, the question slipping out. She paused for a moment.

"Over there," she said, placing more mushrooms in the basket and pointed northeast.

"You buried her?" She nodded silently, her countenance showing that she really did not wish to continue talking about her mother or the grave she buried her mother in.

"Well, there are no more mushrooms, shall we move on?" she announced, clapping her hands free of soil and earth. He nodded and they walked away.

"Is Aldburg a nice place?" she asked as they were walking. The question was unexpected, but he was relieved that she was making an attempt at neutral conversation.

"Yes, Aldburg is a nice place. I suppose my opinion is somewhat biased as it is my home, but it is homely and big, though not as large as Edoras. You could stay in Aldburg until the Orcs have left your forest. You can return once it is safe." She pondered about what he said.

"I am afraid, of leaving," she confessed shyly, smiling for a brief moment, an ironic sorrowful smile. Even the depths of her dark eyes were filled with it. "There are vegetables here," she exclaimed, heading forward and kneeling down, she starts digging around the plants. He helped her dig up some strange looking roots and pull the vegetables out of the earth.

"I doubt I will not know anyone in Aldburg," she confessed.

"You know me, don't you?"

"Yes, but you are Third Marshal. You will be far too busy with your duties to accompany me." She was right about that.

"There are many people there who I think will like you," he replied and she stared at him with a curious expression, as if she thought he was teasing her.

"I do not jest nor lie, Ithílwyn." He stared back at her with a serious expression. She turned away and continued in her work. They did not spot any game, and they made their way back to the cave with only mushrooms and various roots.

"About that night," he uncomfortably began, knowing that he had to clear the confusion. "I apologised not because I did not take pleasure in what we have done, indeed I did, but you are not the kind of woman I usually engage in such..., er activities."

"Oh," she replied disappointedly and hung her head. "I know I am not good enough," she said, her voice choking.

"No, no, that is not what I meant. You are beautiful and I was wrong to go that far." He struggled with his words, offending her was the last thing he wanted to accomplish. "It is just that..., I feel that what we did belongs to the man who will marry you. Do you understand? You are good enough; it is I who is insufficient. You deserve better than what I can offer." She was crying now and he did not know why. Aldric had always been better at consoling females; all he knew was to offend them. He wiped her tears away awkwardly.

"Please do not cry," he begged. She sniffled and he tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. He longed to kiss her like he did before. He pushed the thought out of his head quickly.

"We should return," she said, struggling to even her breath. He sighed and nodded. Perhaps it was better that she did not understand.

"Are you alright?" he asked. She nodded and sniffled, blinking a few times.

"I am sorry...,"

"Do not be," she interrupted. "And do not taint my memory with careless words. I do not regret my actions and neither should you," she said with restrained anger, levelling a stare at him before turning on her heel and running off, leaving him behind her.

He made his way back slowly, knowing that he had offended her badly. He appreciated her acquaintance and her companionship but he was not going to marry and she deserved a husband. He knew that she wanted a husband. And a husband he was not, nor ever will be. He thought it would be best if they put some distance between them, as long as they did not repeat their mistake. He crouched and entered the cave quietly. He saw Ithílwyn's back as she stirred something in a small pot. By its herbal scent, she guessed that it was more medicine for Aldric.

"Oh, there he is. He always had a problem with managing time," he heard Aldric say to Ithílwyn.

"I am glad you are awake and talking," he replied sarcastically.

"Of course," his friend replied incredulously. "Do you not know who has healed me? This very skilled and beautiful lady to my left. I feel wonderful, as if I could challenge that Uruk to a barehanded fight." He winked at Ithílwyn who blushed. Hold on, was Aldric flirting with Ithílwyn? Éomer rolled his eyes.

"No more careless actions, Aldric." His friend sighed in his furs.

"I know you care for me, but please stop impersonating my mother. I am fine, go and help Ithílwyn."

"I am fine," Ithílwyn announced hastily, her gaze flickering over to Éomer. She smiled another one of her dishonest smiles and turned her attention back to her work. Aldric cast Éomer a glance that seemed to say "Look at what you have done. I am sure you are pleased with yourself." Éomer sighed defeatedly. She hands Aldric his medicine.

"Thank you my lady," he said and smiles at her, flashing his dimple. It was the smile he used to lure women into his bed. This was unbelievable! He _was _flirting with her. Éomer was taken aback at how boldly he was behaving. It was revolting. He watched with disgust as Ithílwyn helped him finish his medicine, when he knew he needed no assistance from her. He went over to drink some water. Aldric had his own way with women, and he rarely failed with his charms. Éomer was glad Ithílwyn was unaffected and not showing the usual signs of infatuation he had seen many girls display. He wondered whether it was because of his foolish words or simply because she did not have any interest in Aldric. He dearly hoped it was the latter.

"Éomer! Come here and join us by the fire. I was just telling Ithílwyn that she should visit Aldburg." Éomer groaned inwardly. Ithílwyn did not look at him as he made his way over to the fire pit. He saw that she had already prepared food.

"You will like Aldburg," Aldric mentioned cheerfully. Ithílwyn smiled.

"Yes, Éomer has told me a little about your home," she added and sat down next to Aldric. Éomer noticed she kept a reasonable distance from him. She turned to Éomer. "There is food in the pot", she said politely, bereft of any emotion. "Please, help yourself." He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She turned her attention back to Aldric.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Aldric asked. She nodded. Éomer busied himself with placing food on his plate. He grabbed the lid of the pot and burned himself, crying out in pain.

"What happened?" Ithílwyn cried out and sighed as she realized what he had done. He was in pain and humiliated, clutching his burned left hand with his right. "Wait here," she instructed before leaving the cave.

"I would clap my hands, but I know I must not. Honestly, Éomer , I thought you had better sense than that." Aldric grinned at him.

"Do not open your mouth any longer," he warned through gritted teeth. "And stop making advances towards her."

"She is not your wife."

"Neither is she yours."

"She _could_ be mine," he retorted. "Maybe one day, I will ask her to be my wife."

"Do you think she will accept your proposal?"

"It is her decision, not yours. And besides, I am able to treat her well, which is more than you can offer." Éomer grounded his teeth together, trying to resist himself from punching his friend.

"How fortunate for me then, that you have just injured your hand," Aldric drawled, reading his intention. Perhaps his expression was too transparent.

His friend smiled smugly at him.

"I have won this battle," he said triumphantly.

* * *

Ithílwyn came in the entrance a while later, holding a strange plant that resembled a large green tongue. She sliced it in half lengthwise and placed the cut leaf onto his hand, rubbing the burnt skin with the sap of the leaf. It was slimy and it unsettled him, to say the least.

"This will help?" he questioned, unsure of her intentions. He would not blame her if she poisoned him, he deserved it. But the sticky translucent sap that was on his hand was queer and was not a pleasant sensation. She nodded simply and left the leaf on his palm, whilst she whisked the other half away. She went over to the fire and put food on a plate and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said, surprised at her actions. He looked into her eyes, hoping she would note his remorse. She held his stare for a quick moment and looked away. She went over to Aldric's side.

"Do you feel tired?" she asked. Aldric nodded and smiled charmingly at her. Éomer seethed with anger, clutching the plate tightly.

"Good," was all she said in reply and she tucked the blanket up to his chin.

"If you come to Aldburg with us," Aldric paused and yawned. "I promise to show you around Aldburg, bring you about the whole place," he finished in a sleepy sounding murmur.

"I would like that very much," she replied. As soon as Aldric slept, she left his side and came back to the fire pit where Éomer sat, sullenly eating his food. She went to take food for herself and he forgot that she had not yet eaten. She scooped out the tubers they had dug up this morning and placed it on the plate she was holding. He finished whatever was left on his plate and went to take more.

"You can finish it all of you want," she said, noticing his movement. He turned to her, slightly surprised that she was talking to him.

"What about yourself?" he asked. Surely she must be hungry too.

"I am alright. I thought you would be more hungry, that is all." She spoke softly and he had to stain to hear her.

"The mushrooms are delicious," he praised. She smiled at him, a small smile but it was true.

"Thank you," she replied. He took the rest of the mushrooms and placed it on her plate, noting that she had taken none for herself. She stared at him, surprised at what he had just done. She thanked him again and kept silent. He smiled at her and returns to sitting down. They ate in silence as was their custom, but Éomer could not help but feel that somehow she had forgiven him his verbal trespass.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked a while later when they had both finished their meal. He nodded and he thought she flashed a smile towards his direction as she left. He helped her with the plates and the dirty pot, cleaning them as he had seen her do before, hoping that it would redeem him somewhat. When at last he was finished, and had stowed the plates and the pots and the spoons, he sat down near her. She handed him a cup of tea just as she had last night and then poured one for herself.

"Thank you."

"Thank you for washing the plates for me." He smiled at her and tapped her cup with his.

"To the cave!" he toasted. She laughed and echoed his cry. They tapped their cups together.

"Don't burn your lips too," she teased. He scoffed indignantly, but was secretly pleased that she was teasing him once more. He sipped at his tea, because it _would_ be embarrassing to burn his lips and he feared that she might place the sticky sap on his lips.

"It is a good thing that we have not heard any noise that would suggest the presence of Orcs, if there are any near the cave." She nodded in agreement and drank her tea.

"When will you return?" she asked softly. He looked at her bowed head and her hands, which were wrapped tightly around her cup.

He took a deep breath. "I am not certain, but I cannot leave until Aldric is able to ride."

"His health is improving faster than I have expected. If I am not mistaken, he should be able to ride in a day or two." Éomer was surprised at how quickly his friend had recovered. In the time he spent in the forest, he did not need to play the role of Third Marshal. He was merely Éomer, and he found that pleasant. Refreshing, almost. She saw his hesitation and smiled.

"You do not want to leave?" she teased. He laughed.

"The cave and the forest have its charms. I might have grown endeared to them in the short time away from the city. But I must return in due time. Then what will befall Ithílwyn, Mistress of the Cave? You must know that both Aldric and I fear for her safety." He doubted Aldric was fully aware of the ever threatening presence of the Orcs, but he could not just say that he alone was worried about her. She averted her gaze to her tea.

"Aldric did promise to show me the city, and accompany me while I am there." They must have had this conversation while he had been outside.

"He means to marry you," he blurted out, causing Ithílwyn to cough and choke. She swallowed more tea and managed to overcome her coughing fit and restore her breathing to an even pace.

"My apologies," Éomer began. "I did not mean to-"

"Marry me?!" she shouted, although Éomer would not have hesitated in calling it a shriek.

"It was a joke. I did not mean it."

"It is not a good joke."

"No, it is not." She looked at him pointedly and he tried to sip at his tea nonchalantly.

"Alright, I have a question for you. Would it be possible for me to stay in Aldburg for as long as I needed to, if I choose to take your advice and leave? And also to leave when I choose to?" He nodded.

"Assuredly. You have done much for my men and myself. I would consider myself honoured to repay you for your kind and gracious deeds. I only desire your safety and well-being. Will that suffice for an answer to your question?" She blushed and nodded. They sat there for a spell, looking at each other, eyes brimming with words and emotions their tongues could not speak.

"Why did you say that you were not good for me?" she asked, a question that seemed like an arrow flying out of mist: unseen and dangerous.

"I do not plan on marrying," he bluntly answered, his eyes landing on her lips and not her eyes.

"Oh." And a while later she asked, "Ever?" His eyes drifted above and saw hope in hers.

"Ever," he said with a finality that extinguished the light in her eyes, causing them to appear dark and hollow. And in that moment, he despised himself.

"I suppose you will not tell me why you have chosen to not marry, ever." She tried to sound jovial, but he sensed the pain she withheld within her words. He remained silent for a moment before replying.

"I will not be a good husband."

"And how do you know I will make a good wife?!" she retorted.

"You will." She shut her eyes in what Éomer could tell was sheer frustration.

"I will not marry anyone who _thinks_ he will be a good husband."

"I am certain you will do no such thing."

"And I will not marry Aldric."

"I know," he answered softly, his hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. He brushed the soft skin lightly with his knuckles. She took his hand and pressed it to her face, allowing her cheek to rest in his right palm. He felt a wet tear drip into his hand.

"Éomer?" she called, her voice breaking as she did so.

"What is it?" he replied.

"In all honesty, did you truly regret spending that night with me?" She looked up at him with damp eyes and he was struck by how hurt she was. He shook his head.

"No, I did not." He stated the truth and when he saw her smile despite the tears that rolled down her cheek, he was glad. She sniffled and wiped her eyes and pressed her lips together. He wanted, at that moment, to kiss her. It was all he could think of, because he did not like to see her cry, and he thought that a kiss would remedy the situation. And so he drew her closer to him, and he kissed her, almost laughing when he felt her lips moving at her own will. She sunk into his sudden embrace and he felt her hands clasp together at the back of his neck. He was lost in his desire, his thoughts hazed by her kisses, and the feel of her soft skin. He inhaled the scent of the forest that lingered on her skin, and the floral smell of her dark locks as he grabbed handfuls of the soft hair. She moaned his name, and it was as if a cold bucket of water had been splashed on him. He came to his senses and released her, and was immediately tempted when he saw Ithílwyn laid down on the ground, her hair tousled and her lips red and swollen, chest heaving and thus exposing the shape of her round breasts.

"We cannot-" he protested weakly and did not finish his sentence. She stared at him questioningly, as if to say 'Why not?'

"But, I thought you-" she voiced after he did not meet her gaze, ashamed at his lack of discipline.

"It is not wise." She shut her mouth at his reply and sat up.

"Alright," she acquiesced. He stole a glance at her. She was annoyed, but not offended and that gave him some relief. Hopefully, she understood the reason behind his rejection. She finished her tea and so did he. He took her cup from her, feeling the awkwardness creep in between them. He cleared the cups away, intending to was them. From behind him, he heard her say, "I will take first watch tonight. It is your turn to rest." He turned and nodded and left.

* * *

Like Ithílwyn the night before, he tossed and turned, finding it impossible to fall asleep. He turned towards the entrance where Ithílwyn stood, or sat rather, and smiled when he saw that she was sleeping, her dark head resting on bent knees. He pushed his blanket away and crept out of the furs. To his surprise, she awoke, her eyelashes fluttering sleepily. She stared at him as he made his way over to her. He sat down across her, the way she had done last night.

"I see that you are finding it difficult to fall asleep as well," he teased. She smiled sheepishly and rubbed her left eye.

"As it so happened, I was not asleep, just weary of thinking."

"What is it that you were thinking about?"

"My mother," she replied shyly.

"Which one?" he asked, with no intention of teasing her. She laughed however, and the sound of it cheered his heart.

"Finríel," she replied in a tone which implied that he possessed the wisdom of a rock.

"Oh, that one." She laughed once more and nodded. She seemed more herself when she smiled and laughed.

"What were you thinking about your mother?"

"Whether she would approve if I choose to stay." Her smile disappeared as soon as it came.

"Do you know her answer?" he asked, seeing her eyes moisten. She blinked quickly and sniffled.

She nodded. "I believe she would have wanted me to leave. It is true that it would be dangerous to remain here, and to stay would be to seal my doom. Besides, she once told me that...," she paused and blushed.

"That...?" he pressed, curious as to what her mother had told her to the extent that she would blush before she spoke about it.

"Nothing, it's nothing," she lied, because he knew that it was something, something so secretive that she could not share with him. At least, not yet.

"Alright, I shall not begrudge you the right to keep your own secrets. I leave it between you and your mother." She smiled at him.

"I might tell you one day," she teased and laughed. He laughed at her how insolent she was behaving. She would come with him, and Aldric too, he supposed. She would be safe, and she would be near him.

"I think there is still some more tea. Would you like some more?" she asked, and he believed that they had finally made peace.


	12. Journey to Aldburg

**Sup People, first of all many an apology to all you readers for the tardiness of this chapter, it's been kinda hard lately to focus and there are many details to work out in this story, so it's complicated like that. Also, I speak UK English, that's why I spell honour with a u, but feel free to correct me should you find any mistakes. This chapter is a longie, so enjoy! It took forever to type out, ugh. It is also long, because the protagonists get it on again in this chapter, if you don't like it, switch to a milder rating please. I personally suck at writing love scenes so forgive me. All characters, except the ones with weird names belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, who is magnificent, and who makes me feel absolutely inferior, as I cannot possibly make Eomer sound as smart as Tolkien managed to. (Sighs)**

**Also, please be warned that updates will not be periodical, sorry. My target is Chapter 20 by end of this year. If I manage to do so, then Amazeballs! but it may not work out as well, so keep your fingers crossed. Reviews will really boost my morale, you know, so don't be shy to put one up, I appreciate every one of them. Happy reading and have a good day, or night, it depends on what time you are reading really. :)**

* * *

Chapter 12

Journey to Aldburg

Before dawn, Ithílwyn rose and went to check on Aldric's condition. His arm was healing nicely, and his wounds had sealed themselves quicker than she had expected. She deemed him well enough to travel, but they would not be able to go at a quick pace. His leg would cause him some pain, but she thought she could make something to take away his discomfort during their travel. There were many things to do that morning and she had to admit that she was a little excited to leave. She decided to prepare food first, in case the two sleeping men should awake. For she did not want them to wake up and not find any food to eat: Aldric because he was ill and injured, and Éomer because, well, he was Éomer. She checked her food store first, intending to finish all the food that was left. The duration of her leave was uncertain, but she was sure that her food would spoil in her absence if she left any behind. She found several apples, her precious potted meat and more oats, flour, a little oil and several sprigs of dried herbs; the last of her medicinal store. It was a despairing sight. She sighed and decided to bake bread for their meal, as well as for food during their journey. She had much to do this morning and it would not help to stand and sigh.

She prepared food first, as well as Aldric's medicine as she deemed those more important. After that, she busied herself with packing her things, the most daunting task of the morning. What would she take with her? Only the remnant of her memories. And what would be left behind? She sighed and wiped the tear that leaked out and was running its course on her cheek.

* * *

Éomer was glad Ithílwyn had decided to go to Aldburg with them. He certainly did not want her to stay by herself in the forest and let her fate be left in the hands of filthy Orcs. He had fallen asleep shortly after he had finished his tea but as he looked around the cave, he began suspecting that Ithílwyn had not done as he had. Her belongings were either packed up or stowed away neatly. He sat up and blinked, realizing in all its fullness that he was going home that day. A sigh escaped him. Was he truly disappointed that he was leaving the cave? He smiled to himself. He must have woken up a little silly in the head today. He stood up and stretched, hard grounds produced stiff backs and stiff necks. He saw her by the fire and drew near to her and Aldric, who was well enough to sit and rest his back against the wall of the cave. His friend smiled at him and wiggled his eyebrows. He wondered if Aldric had ever held a degree of austerity in anything he did. Growing up, Aldric was always the one who suggested burning this, breaking that, teasing that girl, pouring water on that other boy. He was the troublemaker, the leader. Now he was Third Marshal, and he was the one who was in charge. But Aldric had always been the one to see the brighter part of life. He had a talent of fishing a smile or a laugh out of Éomer's sullen depths. Éomer was glad and thankful Aldric was not dead, but he should not have threatened to marry Ithílwyn. He deserved a good blow for that transgression. Ithílwyn turned to him and smiled and his lips turned up at the corners in reply. She was beautiful that morning.

"Come and eat," she invited, dishing out oatmeal, sliced apples and what Éomer suspected was the last of her never ending supply of meat to the two grateful men. Ithílwyn seemed distracted that morning, her eyes darting here and there. He took Aldric's bowl of food and helped feed him, watching her scarf down her food. When she dashed out the cave without a word, the two men watched her fleeting figure disappear and turned to each other, puzzled.

"Where has she disappeared to?" Aldric asked. Éomer shrugged. Ithílwyn, to his limited knowledge, had never acted wrongly. She did what she had to do, always. That he learned long ago. She was wise despite her youth, and she was more than capable. She had saved the two of them, and herself as well. He ignored Aldric's look at him and forced more oatmeal in his mouth. It was his turn to save her now. The roles now reversed, she would be his guest, and he her host. By the time Aldric had finished eating and had fallen asleep, again, he had cleaned the dirty plates and bowls and began packing his things. He had just finished saddling Firefoot when Ithílwyn returned, flushed from running. She was wearing a different dress, he noted, now that she was face to face with him in the sunlight. It was similar in fashion to the dresses the female villagers wore. Hmm.

"Am I late?" she asked, panting. He shook his head, staring at the red eyes on her pink face and her dark windswept hair. She smelled faintly of lilies. She exhaled in relief and ran back into the cave. He shook his head again and smiled to himself, staring at her as she left in her haste. He heard her whistling for her mare and then she reappeared again, flashing him a grin. She saddled her horse as he went to bring Aldric out. He noticed she had brought along with her certain bundles and would have asked her about it if he was not cumbered with the full weight of Aldric in his armour. He had decided to put it on earlier in case of an unforeseen enemy assail. But now he regretted it. Ithílwyn watched him as he struggled to put Aldric, who was still drowsy after his nap, on Firefoot.

"Will your horse be able to support both your weights?" she asked, brow furrowed in concern. Firefoot let out a horse-like snort of offense.

"He is the best horse in the Eastmark, and a faithful friend. I myself trained him and he is more than able to carry both of our weights. It is foal's play for a horse like him," Éomer replied, slapping Firefoot's hind legs in demonstration. His horse let out an indignant neigh, causing Ithílwyn to laugh and reach out to pat Firefoot's muzzle. To Éomer's surprise, Firefoot allowed her to caress him, when he usually did not welcome others' touches or strokes.

"Of course, I apologise for doubting you, handsome Firefoot," she said and rubbed the horse's neck. His horse nuzzled her and he looked over at Freckles, who he suspected was beginning to envy Firefoot.

"You should know that Firefoot is rarely affectionate to anyone, even me," he remarks and smiles at her. Aldric was making incoherent noises as Éomer supported him.

"Any horse would be affectionate to one who secretly feeds him." She winks at him and gestured at Aldric with her head.

"Right," he replied, gritting his teeth as he did so. Ithílwyn ran back and covered the entrance to the cave with a sort of wooden frame made out of twigs and branches so that the entrance was no more, appearing as if it was hidden under the earth. Éomer put Aldric on his horse with much difficulty and mounted his steed, letting Aldric lie back on him. She shook the soil and bits of bark from her palms and kissed Freckles on her nose before mounting. He heard her sigh as they rode out and he turned to look at her. She returned his gaze with an unreadable expression.

"Are you alright?" She looked around her, as if to savour the last of her moments in the forest. Then she turned to him and smiled, one that must have taken lot of courage to muster.

"Yes," she replied. "Shall we leave?" He nodded and smiled at her encouragingly. He spurred Firefoot and led his horse at a steady trot. He vaguely heard Ithílwyn hum a tune behind him as her horse followed Fiefoot's pace. As Ithílwyn had advised earlier, Aldric would be put into great danger if they travelled at a quick pace. For now, his friend was in the midst of a peaceful slumber. He knew his task: lead all three of them back to Aldburg safely and he knew it would not be an easy undertaking to accomplish. Ithílwyn soon came up beside him and he noticed her eyes were red. She pointed to a large rowan tree that must have been there for some time.

"This was where Finríel found me many years ago." He stared at her, wondering why she continued looking at the tree, as if there was a scene unfolding before her that he could not see.

"Ithílwyn?"

"Oh, sorry." She wiped her face and straightened her back, turning away and leaving the tree behind.

"I understand it must be hard to bid farewell. You do not have to be sorry."

"It is the earth's will for things to leave, that other things may come in its stead. Mayhaps I will return someday, though deep in my heart I fear it is unlikely that I will be able to do so." She smiled briefly before it vanished and her lips drew themselves into a line. He did not know what else to say, and thought it best not to say anything, for words may have their wisdom and folly. She slowed her pace and fell behind him, and he sensed that she needed to be alone for a while. And so no words were spoken until Éomer decided to halt by a stream. It was noontime, and the sun was bearing down on their backs. They were closer to the edge of the forest, and the trees were few, allowing sunlight to shine upon the ground. They dismounted, and Aldric was laid on a bed of soft heather. Éomer splashed his face with cool water and was glad for the refreshment. Ithílwyn was by Aldric's side, he was half awake by now, and slurring his words as he tried to speak to her. She was feeding him something, what it was he did not know because he went to refill his waterskins. She joined him a while later by the stream, causing him to feel uncomfortable, knowing that he should say something to her out of courtesy, but the words were not at his current disposal.

"Are you alright?" he asked, the best of all he could muster.

"I think so." She smiles shyly at him and closes the top of her waterskin. "I have prepared some food to eat." He nodded and was glad she had chosen to come along, else he and Aldric starve on their journey. The horses were taking a brief rest as they nibbled on the grass. Aldric's horse had been taken back to Aldburg when the rest of his men had left, which was a blessing, as they need not worry about another horse. They ate in silence before preparing to leave once more. Aldric insisted loudly that he was fine, his speech slurred but comprehendible, urging them to continue and move quickly.

"Although I would rather ride with the lady than with you," he whispered to Éomer, who

thought the remark unnecessary. They mounted and continued on their journey.

They travelled on until the sunset and set up camp for the night. The horses were unsaddled and allowed to graze and rest. Ithílwyn prepared dinner once Éomer had gotten a fire going. The forest was eerily quiet and Éomer was uneasy, unsure if lighting a fire was a wise decision. Ithílwyn was feeding Aldric, who much to Éomer's frustration, was making obvious advances towards her. It was bad enough that he was the only one eating a proper meal that night. There was not enough food for all of them and Aldric needed to heal. Ithílwyn was otherwise unaffected by his flirtatious remarks, and she did not permit him to say much as she was persistent in placing food in his mouth. He admired her for not treating Aldric differently after what he had told her the night before, or perhaps she believed he was actually jesting. He decided not to watch Aldric's pathetic attempts at flirting with the opposite sex. He took the sleeping furs out and laid them out on the ground by the fireplace. Ithílwyn escorted Aldric who was limping painfully to where the furs were laid out and made him rest. After Aldric had fallen asleep, she came up to him and sighed.

"He is not faring well as I had hoped. The travelling has taken a toll on his health," she reported. He frowned and turned to look at his sleeping friend.

"We cannot afford to stop for too long." She did not reply and chose to purse her lips instead. She knew he was right. "I'll take first watch this time." She nodded and turned away, then turning back to him.

"I have been meaning to ask you this, how is your hand?" He stared at it.

"It is fine. It does not hurt anymore, thanks to you." She smiled and took his hand, looking at it closely.

"Your hand was not burnt badly, but it has healed quickly," she replied and smiled.

"You are demonstrating too much joy for something so unimportant."

"There are many things to be joyous about, if we choose to perceive them as such. Why, there are many things that I should be depressed, or sad about, but that will not be much help in our situation."

"No, it will not," he murmured, clasping her hand tightly in his own. Her eyes flitted to his gaze in surprise. Running his hand through her hair, he marvelled at how soft it felt at the touch of his fingertips. "Your hair is like silk," he breathed beside her ear. She gulped and the moment disappeared. He released her hand and breathed deeply. "I am sorry."

"It is no matter," she replied indifferently and went over to her furs and arranged them. He noticed she put hers further from Aldric's resting form and his furs. He swore under his breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He began to believe that he would only redeem himself once for every ten times he offended Ithílwyn. He sat on his furs and kept watch, stealing a glance at Ithílwyn, who covered herself and turned her back to him.

"Goodnight," he called out, but there was no reply. He stayed awake from night till dawn, not waking Ithílwyn, for two reasons: she needed sleep, and he could not. He kicked clumps of earth and put the fire out, scattering the ashes and covering their tracks. He went to Aldric's side and placed his hand on his forehead. It was dangerously warm and Éomer grew anxious. He went over to Firefoot, who was near Ithílwyn's mare. He hoped the horses had behaved. Firefoot was greeted first, and then Freckles.

"Good morning, Freckles. I thank you for watching over my friend," he paused and placed an arm over Firefoot, "here. And I would like to inform you of the situation that has befallen us." Freckles whinnied. "My friend is gravely ill, and we have no other option save to return to Aldburg where there is medicine for him. I fel it right to inform you that we might have to ride the entire day." The mare nickered and he reached out to stroke her speckled coat. Ithílwyn had a good horse with her. The horse left him and went over to her mistress, who was curled up in what Éomer would describe as an adorable position. The horse nudged Ithílwyn with its muzzle and woke her mistress, who immediately sat up and rubbed her eyes groggily. She looked up at Éomer and stifled a yawn.

"Is it time to leave?" she inquired. He nodded and watched as she stretched and got to her feet, packing quickly. Breakfast was flat bread, potted meat and some berries Éomer did not know she had plucked the day before. Aldric ate little and his skin was deathly pale. Éomer saddled the horses while Ithílwyn got Aldric to eat and drink as much as he could. A while later, they set out again, fearful of the possible circumstances they might face.

"His fever is worsening," she alerted. He nodded.

"I know. But I cannot travel at a faster pace, nor am I willing to stop." She kept silent. "We ride as long as there is light. I will decide what to do then."

Éomer put them at a slightly faster speed than the day before, and Aldric was not affected too badly although his fever was worsening. By midmorning they had left the trees of the forest behind them and had entered the eastern plains of Rohan. They had covered good distance that day as they had not stopped once and Éomer estimated that they would reach Aldburg within two days, three days at most. They set up camp when night fell and he could sense their anxiousness over Aldric's rapidly declining health. For his sake, they lit a fire. Ithílwyn needed to brew his medicine to alleviate the pain he was in and Éomer took it upon himself to prepare dinner that night. Ithílwyn handed the pack of food she had brought and he was surprised at how light it felt.

He watched her feeding Aldric the medicine she made earlier as he drank thin stew. Aldric had been asleep and feverish the whole day, and Ithílwyn felt responsible for it. She joined him by the fire, where the stew was bubbling.

"How far is it to Aldburg?"

"Two days, given the pace we are travelling at. Is Aldric...," he paused, not knowing how to continue.

"He needs medicine that I do not have. The drink I made for him will only help numb the pain and reduce his fever. I fear we must trust him to sustain until we reach Aldburg. Did you make stew?"

"Uh, yes." He was frightened at how she would react. She ladled the stew and let it dribble back into the pot, and he saw her cringe at the unappetising consistency. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath as she ladled out some stew for herself. They were both hungry, as they had not eaten much the night before. However, Éomer knew she was eating out of need and not want. She smiled at him and took a spoonful. And grimaced. She tried to mask her displeasure, but Éomer knew what he had made, and what it tasted like.

"I am not a good cook," he confessed. She gulped and coughed.

"It is not so terrible," she lied and took another brave bite. He raised an eyebrow, calling her bluff as she swallowed and shuddered. "Alright, it is that terrible. What did you put in the stew? I hope you've left some food for Aldric."

"Yes, I have. I am truly sorry for the way I cause the stew to turn out."

"It is fine, I respect your intentions. I never had a man cook for me before." She smiled at him. "But perhaps, next time you will consult me before you cook?" She raised her eyebrows slightly and burst into laughter.

"Yes, and you can trust that I am not about to cook in the near future. I will stick with Orc-hunting, and swordplay." A cold breeze whistled through their camp and filled Éomer with scary thoughts. He stamped out the fire and scattered the ashes and the burnt logs. Ithílwyn raised an eyebrow, but did not say a word, going over to Aldric and piling more fur blankets on to him. She went back to her unfinished bowl and sat by him. She shivered as another breeze swept by, crossing her arms over her small frame. Éomer took off his cloak and put it around her shoulders. She looked up at him gratefully.

"Would you not be cold then?" He shook his head.

"Do not worry, I am used to such conditions." She picked up her bowl and boldly finished the stew in front of his eyes, wiggling her eyebrows at him and causing him to laugh. "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"I was curious as to where you had gone last morning, before we left."

"Oh..., that." She turned her head away and he realised that he was not certain if his question deserved an answer. "I went to my mother's grave, to say goodbye and to tell her that I will be alright. I will not be returning, for quite some time, and I wanted to make sure that nothing disturbs her peace."

"I see. You were gone for quite a long while."

"Yes, I had much to say to her. I am sure you would have a lot to say to your mother too."

"No, I would not." She stared at him.

"What did you tell her?"

"That I was going to Aldburg, and that I had met new friends," she paused and did not continue.

"I see."

"Mm hmm. I think I will take first watch tonight, you may rest tonight." And that was the end of their conversation. Éomer bundled up his one sleeping fur and made it into a pillow, lying down on it. He could feel the grass poking his back. It was damned cold, and he curled his body. He was a battle hardened warrior, and he was used to the harsh weather of the plains, having slept on the prickly grass numerous times. What he could not withstand was the accursed sound of Ithílwyn's chattering in the cold. When he finally had enough of the sound, he got up and went over to her. She had his cloak wrapped tightly around her, and she had drawn her knees up and curled herself into a ball. He exhaled disapprovingly and she looked up at him in surprise.

"Y-you ca-cannot sl-slee-sleep?" she asked.

"You are freezing," he stated in complete ignorance pertaining to her question, noticing her lips were beginning to turn purple. He sat down behind her and placed his arms over her. "Give me your hands," he ordered. She obeyed and placed her icy hands in his. He rubbed them and let the heat from his body warm her. "I should not have put the fire out." She nodded and laughed. "Why are you laughing?"

"I am not cold anymore, thank you," she replied, even when she was still shivering.

They sat that way for a while until she stopped shivering. She laid her head in the crook of his neck as Éomer played with her fingers absentmindedly. She snuggled closer to him and a smile appeared on his face.

"How do you feel?" he asked, looking down at her. She wore a wide smile on her face.

"Wonderful." She broke from his hold and knelt down, taking the cloak that he had put over her off and placing it back on his shoulders. He noticed that she had had another cloak underneath the one she just removed. It was an old cloak, slightly torn, and he could see spots in the shawl where the fabric was stretched. What surprised him was that it looked familiar.

"It is yours," she replies, seeing that he was looking at it intently. "You gave it to me when I fell into the stream." The memory came back to him and he looked at her, understanding why she was blushing. She had a shy smile on her face, and Éomer felt his heart stop for one short moment as he beheld her in the moonlight.

"Why did you keep it?" he asked, brushing her cheek with his knuckles.

"I liked it," she replied shyly. "I know you must think me a fool."

"No, I do not think you are a fool." He held her chin with his thumb and forefinger and pressed his lips to hers. "How could I have forgotten?" he whispered as she began responding to his kiss. She smiled and he let his hand run through her hair. He broke the kiss and simply stared at her, at how lovely she was. Her fair face framed with silky dark, and freshly tousled hair. The bright eyes that gleamed back at him, the rosy blush on her cheeks and her swollen lips, begging him to kiss her. And so he complied, kissing her once more, letting his hand rest on her waist. He lowered her down to the ground and he heard her moan his name. It caused his blood to roar, and his control was lost. Somehow, he managed to think of her welfare throughout the haze of lust he was shrouded in. He laid out the cloaks underneath and saw her smiling at him. It was a bright, joyful expression, and he had never seen her so radiant. It made him hesitate. He pulled away from her and sat down beside her. She noticed the change in his demeanour and sat up, taking hold of his hand. "No more of this, you want this as much as I do."

"Ithílwyn," he protested weakly. He would not be able to refuse her much longer if she kept persuading him with dark eyes that reflected gleaming starlight.

"You want me," she murmured, drawing herself up to him and placing kisses at the side of his neck. She tugged at the straps of his armour, trying her best to feel his skin underneath her palms. He brought her head up and kissed her hard on the lips, moving his hands down to help her with her clumsy efforts. He was already aroused, and she was still fully clothed. Lowering her down onto their cloaks, or his cloaks rather, he fiddled with the laces on her dress. He felt her tugging at the waist of his breeches and smiled at how impatient this woman was. He took her hands away and grinned menacingly at her. He placed her arms flat on the ground above her head and nuzzled her neck, scratching her skin with his beard. One hand slipped down from her hip to her thigh. He bent her leg and lifted the fabric of her dress, discovering that he missed the kind of dress she wore when she was in the forest. He tickled her as he pulled the fabric higher and higher, never having undressed her before. And then he saw something which further intrigued him. Fastened around her thigh was a thin leather cord.

"What is this?" he asked her.

"Oh, it is a necklace," she replied, sitting up again. He leaned in to take a closer look and discovered that there was an undressed amethyst strung around the cord. It was a crudely fashioned piece of jewellery, and it was definitely not made in Rohirric fashion. How did she have such a thing in her possession?

"I did not steal it, if that is what you are thinking," she teased. "It was given to me by my father. My sister told me that when she received me in her home, the necklace was already around my neck. I do not think it pretty, but it was my father's, I think."

"You should wear it around your neck," he replied, curious as to what it would look like nestling between her breasts.

"Hmm, I suppose so, but it was hard to run with a stone around your neck, much less hunt or forage. It was much easier to keep it tied around my thigh, for convenience." He removed the necklace from her thigh and put it around her, letting it rest on her chest. She reached out to finger the stone. "It feels odd," she remarks lightly, chuckling.

"That is because you are still dressed," he replied and undid the laces of her dress and pulled the fabric off her, leaving the sheer chemise draped over her. She had been tugging at his breeches clumsily the entire time he was undressing her and in frustration, he kicked his breeches and boots away. He turned back to her to find that she had removed her chemise and was baring her beautiful, fair form. He licked his lips expectantly and crawled over her, kissing her hungrily. He felt her tongue respond to his intrusion and her hands at the back of his neck. She pulled his shirt off him with a force he did not know she possessed.

"Oh Éomer," she sighed when they broke for air. He kissed her cheek and subsequently began to trail kisses from her jawbone to her chin, and then to her neck and her collarbone, down to the valley between her breasts. He could feel her hands kneading and squeezing the flesh at his back. He covered her breast with one hand and placed his mouth over the other, circling her nipple with his tongue. Ithílwyn moaned and tugged at his hair, fastening her legs around his. He squeezed the other breast and delighted in hearing her squeal. The skin around his manhood was straining painfully and he briefly wondered if he had desired a woman as much as he did in that moment. His body was crying out for release, but he knew she was still new to lovemaking, and she would gain no pleasure from harsh ways. He smothered his lust and turned his attention back to her chest. Slowly, he grazed his teeth over the sensitive skin of her breast, slightly amused that she was pressing his head down to her bosom. He snaked his hand down, skimming over her flat, smooth stomach before reaching her womanhood. Knowing much about a woman's anatomy, he found her most sensitive spot and circled his thumb over it lightly, causing her to jerk.

"Éomer!"

"How may I assist you, my lady?"

"What did you do?" she asked, her breath ragged.

"Did it offend you, or would you like me to repeat?" he teased. She ignored his smirk.

"Repeat, please," she replied in a raspy voice. He nodded obediently, kissing her left breast and proceeded to suckle while his thumb made lazy patterns at the lower part of her body. Her breaths were coming in short pants now and he decided it was time to enlighten her of the ways of a man and a woman. He trailed kisses from the underside of her breast to the dark thatch of hair below her stomach.

"What are you-"

"Shh," he chided, casting a disapproving look at her. He disappeared from her sight as he placed his head between her legs and kissed her where she had not ever dreamed of being kissed. He placed his tongue in between her moist folds and could not help but grin at her response. High pitched noises were coming from her throat as he licked, nibbled and sucked.

"Éomer, ah..., wh-what are, ohh, OHH!" Éomer rose from between her legs, pausing to take a peek at his work. Ithílwyn was panting, and she had a lazy smile on her face. He crawled over her until they were looking into each other's eyes. He kissed her again, letting her taste herself. He broke the kiss when he felt her hand at his abdomen. Catching her hand, he stared at her with one raised eyebrow.

"Ithílwyn," he warned.

"Éomer, I ...," she trailed as he had leaned down and was now nibbling on a delicate earlobe.

"Hmm?"

"I want to, uh, pleasure you." He smiled at her and kissed her on her nose.

"I am pleased," he replied.

"No, I want," she paused and blushed.

"What is it that you desire, hm? Tell me." He spoke softly, giving her right breast a light squeeze. Her eyes rolled back and he could see that she was struggling to find words to say.

"I want you," she pleaded.

"I am here." It was naughty of him to treat her so, especially as they were naked, skin on skin and lying out in the open field.

"Want you, ooh!, inside me," she pleaded and he could not refuse. Her cheeks turned a deep pink and he smiled at her. He nuzzled her neck, teasing her with his prickly beard once more.

"I want you too," he murmured softly, hoping she would not hear him. Using his knee, he nudged her legs apart gently. He pressed her thumb into her opening, wanting to make certain that she was welcoming him, even though he already knew from experience that she would. He shifted slightly so that he was directly above her and entered her slowly, grunting as he fought with his escalating desires. Her body responded to him almost immediately, her hips jerking to close the distance between them. He gritted his teeth, aware that he must not spill his seed inside her. He lowered himself until he was supporting his own weight with his elbows, feeling her hard nipples, moist from his tongue, poke his chest. He savoured the feel of her soft, warm skin against his, lowering his head to kiss her. Her legs crossed at his back and gripped his hips. Pushing deeper within her, he covered his mouth with her hair so that his groans would be muffled. "Oh, Thíl!" he moaned.

She laughed and brushed his messy blond hair aside. "Are you pleased now?"

He did not have the strength or the concentration to answer her. He nodded and plunged himself into her, groaning in sheer pleasure. Grabbing the fabric of the cloaks tightly in his fist, he began to move gently, reminding himself that it was for her. That it was different, because he was making love to her. Ithílwyn was not keen on his slow pace and pushed her hips up, startling him. He held her down and continued moving his hips back and forth, at a steady pace. He doubted that he would last, her walls were squeezing and tightening around him, causing him to lose his restraint. He steeled himself and quickened his movements.

"Ithílwyn!" he gasped, when she felt her pinch his buttocks. She grinned cheekily at him, rising to plant a kiss on his lips. He shook his head in disbelief and withdrew from her, only to plunge hard into her. She moaned, her head lolling backwards. "Naughty," he chided, knowing that he must help her find her release quickly, before he collapsed on her. Burying his head in the crook of her neck, he bit his finger as he rocked his hips even quicker than before, clamping his teeth down every time he felt the urge to come. Ithílwyn was moaning, each one higher in pitch than the last. When was she ever going to find release? He did not know how he was to survive, his muscles were so strained and tired. And then, Ithílwyn cried out his name and shuddered. Groaning in relief, he rolled his hips and unsheathed himself, spilling himself on the ground. He landed roughly on top of her, exhausted. He was short of breath but satisfied. He could feel her fingers stroking his hair, and another hand on his back. While vaguely aware that he must be crushing her with his weight, she was small in stature compared to him, he was too spent to even speak. A while later, he mustered his strength and tumbled off her and down onto the spread out cloaks, which were now rumpled and creased. He lay on his back beside her, trying to catch his breath. He heard her murmur a complaint and chuckled as he drew her neared to him. She nestled herself into the shape of his body and let out a contented sigh. He smiled as she pressed closer to him. She tilted her head to smile up at him, and he gave one in return, making sure to remember the exact expression as she lay in his arms, bare and beautiful. Her smile was one of contentment and satisfaction, and Éomer would not mind seeing that smile again, and again, and once more for good measure. He curled up against her, removing one of the cloaks and draping it around them.

"Are you cold?"

She shook her head. "Your skin is hot," she replied and laughed. He laughed as well, for she was right about him rarely smiling or laughing, and in that joyous moment, the moon seemed to glow, and the stars were twinkling brighter than before.

"I enjoyed myself very much," she admitted shyly, popping her head up from beneath his chin. He was glad that his efforts had not gone to waste.

"Me too." He wrapped his arm around her and held her close.

It was only the next morning that Éomer realized that Aldric was sleeping seven feet away from them, and that he had made a promise to his friend that he would not sleep with Ithílwyn, which he had done last night. It left a slightly acrid taste in his mouth as Ithílwyn served him breakfast. Aldric's illness had one benefit: he slept like a dead man. Even with their moaning and grunting, he had not stirred. She had awakened much earlier than he had, and was dressed by the time he rose. He dressed as she cooked breakfast that morning, not meeting her eye. Now, as she handed him his food, she smiled shyly at him, and he wondered if he deserved forgiveness. He decided Aldric was better off not knowing what they had been up to last night. Ithílwyn was beautiful that morning, radiant and well satisfied. He smiled back at her, slightly dazed by her lovely appearance, besides being fond of the occasions in which she chose to flash that particular smile. Surely Aldric would not mind him making her happier than she was before, would he? She beamed at him and went to see to Aldric. He informed her that he was going to ready the horses for their journey, which was exactly what he did, except he was busy thinking as his hands were moving.

"We are ready," Ithílwyn calls, startling him out of his troubled thoughts. Her face flushed when she saw him. He nodded and took Aldric from her while she stamped the fire out, and scattering the ashes, hiding their tracks. The horses were already saddled and all had been packed.

"I think it would be best if we continue the journey at the pace we set yesterday. If all goes well, we might be able to reach Aldburg before nightfall. How is Aldric?" He lifted Aldric up, who stood slumped against his frame. His skin was a sickly shade of green, causing Éomer to cringe slightly.

"He needs proper treatment, but I suppose he will be able to hold on until nightfall. Although I must caution you that we have to be quick in our travelling, I have run out of food and medicinal supplies. The medicine I gave him will wear out sooner or later. And we can expect that the travelling will take a toll on his ill and exhausted body." He nodded and they mounted, setting off on the last part of their journey. They rode steadily as the sun made its presence known in the Eastmark. Eomer was hopeful that they would make it to Aldburg in time, but as the journey wore on, and as the sun continued to rise until it was burning their backs, he began to question the possibility of the task ahead. Their journey required haste and it worried Éomer. Not only was his friend's life was at stake, but his and Ithílwyn's too were at risk. If they were discovered by Orcs... his trail of thought ended because Aldric was starting to jerk in his arms. He tugged on the reins as Aldric began convulsing and leaned over, retching on the ground. Firefoot came to an abrupt halt and Aldric's lifeless body came back up, spewing vomit onto Éomer's armour, and onto his saddle. He shut his eyes in exasperation and disgust and dismounted. Ithílwyn rode past him, not knowing that he had stopped. She veered Freckles around and stopped when she reached them. Éomer lifted Aldric off Firefoot, grunting under the weight, and laid him down on the ground. Ithílwyn dropped to her knees beside him and began inspecting him. His eyes darted back and forth; from Ithílwyn to Aldric, and from Aldric back to Ithílwyn. She sighed and he spied a tear about to fall at the corner of her eye.

"He needs medicine quickly. What are we to do?" She was frantic. She took her waterskin and a cloth and damped the cloth. She wiped Aldric's face and neck and dripped water into his mouth while Éomer sat, and thought hard.

"We have already arrived in the boundaries of the Folde, and only a few hours lie between us and Aldburg," he informed. "Would you think it wise for us to hasten?" She chewed her lip, turning back to Aldric to drip more water between her lips. She turned back to him and nodded.

"I think it necessary."

"Alright then, we ride swiftly for Aldburg." She nodded and helped him lift Aldric.

"Éomer, let me carry some of your things. Firefoot will travel faster if he is lighter." He nodded and put Aldric on his horse as she took some of his belongings and placed it together with hers. The horses were bribed with half an apple each, and promised more should they carry their masters, and Aldric, safely to Aldburg. Ithílwyn whispered a few words of encouragement to Freckles, who had never carried such weight in her life, and was not used to galloping for long distances. She was also worried that her mare would not take kindly to new surroundings once they reached Aldburg. Surprisingly, Freckles snorted at her, as if to reprimand her for having such little trust in the mare's strength. Ithílwyn laughed and kissed her dear horse. Éomer mounted his horse and adjusted Aldric's position.

"Come on Aldric, we are almost home, don't die on me now, I do not intend to tell your mother about her son's death, do you hear?" he murmured into his friend's ear angrily. "Firefoot, I bid you display the strength of your worthy sires, fly now, fly to Aldburg!" Firefoot neighed loudly, and raced off, leaving dust in his tracks, having been born and bred for swift travelling. Ithílwyn was shocked to see how far Éomer had gone in the short amount of time since he had rode off and quickly spurred Freckles, knowing the horse would dislike being left behind. She almost fell off as her mare sprinted off, thinking that the pace they had travelled at the days before could not possibly compare to the speed they were now moving at. The wind whipped their hair in every direction, making it hard to see, or hear. Ithílwyn was beginning to worry that her dress would fly off her body. She caught up to Éomer eventually, as Firefoot's burden was much greater. He was amazed at her ability to keep up with him at such a speed. Indeed, he was not the swiftest Rider, but he could be swift when he needed to be. Ithílwyn was holding her own, riding beside him. He smiled, knowing that she had the lighter horse. A while later, Éomer turned towards Ithílwyn, waiting for her reaction as she laid eyes on Aldburg, the first and former capital of Rohan, capital of the Eastmark and home to the Third Marshal and his_ éored_, the place of his birth. She caught him looking at her and smiled at him, pointing to the old fortress excitedly. He smiled back at her. He was home, and so was Aldric. But she was about to be there too, and he knew it would be different.


	13. Ithílwyn's Introduction

**Hi all, sorry for the late. Feeling a little demotivated that is all. It is a slightly shorter chapter than the last but I hope it will do for now. See you in the next. Without further adieu... Chapter 13**

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Chapter 13

Ithílwyn's Introduction

The first thing Ithílwyn did upon catching sight of Aldburg was to gape at how large it was. It was a magnificent building, many thousand times larger than the small cave she lived in. She turned to Éomer and grinned at him, now knowing why he had wanted her to come here. It was fitting, she supposed, that this building was once the capital of the country. She wondered how large Edoras must be, to have supplanted the large building in front of her eyes as the current capital. Éomer took the lead, and she followed him. They had finally reached the city, and Aldric would be safe. They would all be safe. They came to a halt at the gate, which was closed.

"Who goes there, and what is your business in the Folde?" a male voice boomed from behind the gate.

"It is I, Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark. Now open the gate, for I bear an injured Rider, whose feet are near the grave! Quickly!" The gate opened and Éomer galloped through without hesitation and she followed closely behind. They rode past wooden houses and came up to the southern entrance of Aldburg, where the stables were housed. As she tugged on Freckles' reins, causing her to come to a halt, she heard Aldric fall to the floor and Éomer cursing loudly. She helped him bring Aldric up from the hay strewn floor and found that the three of them were no longer numbered three, but many. Strange faces surrounded her and she drew closer to Éomer. None of those faces were known to her, and it was terrifying. Things went on around her in a noisy blur; Éomer calling names she knew not and the people about her rushing about, taking and removing things. All the while she could feel their eyes on her skin as they stared at her. It made her feel as if she was not a person, as if she did not belong here. It filled her with an immensely strong desire to jump on her mare and return to the cave. She felt the familiar pricking at the back of her eyes and scolded herself silently. Coming here had been her decision and she will **not**, in any circumstance, cry. Not a tear.

"Ithílwyn?"

She turned to Éomer, relieved that she had heard a voice she recognized. She took the hand that he offered to her and let him lead her. "I want you to meet Ainsware, she will take good care of you while you are here." A much older woman, with a kindly face and bright blue eyes smiled at her. She wanted to scream, not realizing that she had gripped Éomer's hand so tightly that he had to pat her hand with his other hand reassuringly. She smiled nervously and he gestured to his hand, which was almost devoid of blood. Reluctantly, she let go and turned to Ainsware, who smiled at her again. She smiled tightly and noted that Ainsware was holding out her arm. Ithílwyn stepped forward and linked arms with her. Her heart jumped in fear when she realised that Ainsware was leading her somewhere and Éomer was standing still behind her. She turned to look back at him as Ainsware made her way forward out of the stables, impatiently tugging at Ithílwyn's arm. He smiled at her reassuringly and winked at her. A small grin appeared on her face. She turned back to Ainsware, who was frowning a little at her, and her smile vanished. The older woman led her away and she was too terrified to look back.

"What is your name?" she heard Ainsware ask. She thought that Ainsware had a rather nice, pleasant voice and Ithílwyn thought that she might have found her first friend in Aldburg. If she was to be taken care of by anyone, she would very much prefer that person to be a friend. Ainsware might very well be her first friend here in Aldburg!

"Ithílwyn," she replied. The woman stared back at her as if she had mumbled something nonsensical. Oh well, it takes time to meet friends. She would have to remain optimistic and hope to meet a kindred spirit. Her fingers were crossed. She shrugged, wondering what was so strange about her name. Finríel had told her that her name was a mixture of languages, and that must be difficult for Ainsware to comprehend. The kind, older woman said nothing in response; although Ithílwyn got the feeling that she had a word or two at the tip of her tongue. She continued walking and Ithílwyn followed along. She took the time to look down on to the clean floor and found herself embarrassed at the state of her boots. They were torn and tattered and she could see to toes peeking out through the right boot. Not only that, she had also left muddy footprints all over the clean floor. Ainsware turned to see what she was looking at and sighed beside her.

"Do not worry about the mess, we will provide you with a brush and a bucket of soapwater to scrub the floors tomorrow," she said and smiled at Ithílwyn who immediately paled. "It was a jest, dearie." Relief flooded over her and Ainsware chuckled. "How did you meet Éomer's acquaintance?"

She blushed at the mention of his name. "Uh, we met in the woods."

"Woods?!" It was a pitch too close to a screech as Ithílwyn would have liked.

"Erm, yes. He and his men were battling against Orcs in the woods. I happened to live there and came to their aid."

"You live in the forest?!" She nodded. Once again, she was stared at by eyes that did not believe her. Thankfully, Ainsware decided that the peculiarity of Ithílwyn living in the woods was something to be pondered about another day and she asked no more questions that night. Ithílwyn thought that her presence seemed as strange to Ainsware as Aldburg and its inhabitants seemed strange to her.

"Éomer has requested me to house you in one of the royal bedchambers," Ainsware commented.

"Oh but I," she began protesting, knowing that she was definitely not regal enough to be housed in such comfort. She was used to a cave, and now he wanted her to live in luxury while she remained here?

"Please do not question his orders," Ainsware replied, cutting her off. "I find it easier to just follow, he always wins the arguments anyway. Please do enter the room; I hope you will find it to your liking." Ainsware unlocked the door and Ithílwyn held her breath in anticipation.

"It should be better than a cave," she murmured and chuckled. Another odd stare from Ainsware was directed at her and Ithílwyn feigned innocence, not wanting another screech near her ear. Ithílwyn pushed the door ajar and peered inside. The room was spacious and grand. She did not want to enter the magnificent room with her muddy boots. Ainsware pushed her in; whether it was accidental or on purpose, Ithílwyn never knew. A large bed stood in the middle of the room and was big enough to fit two grown men. The bed frame and its posts were made of a lovely dark wood that was intricately carved. She ran her fingers over the texture of the carving, feeling the grooves that had been cut into the wood so that it illustrated a complicated knot. Marvelled at the craftsmanship, she was startled when she heard a maid bustling in the room. She was carrying two large buckets of water and Ithílwyn turned to Ainsware, casting a curious glance.

"It is for your bath, if that is indeed what you are wondering."

"Bath?" she asked. She had never had a hot bath prepared for her before., seeing as there was a serene lake not far from the cave to bathe in. Not even when she was in the Aldwode did she have a bath with hot water, seeing as it was too expensive to afford. Several other maids joined the first one as the bath tub was slowly filled. A part of her tingled with excitement at this luxury. She did however feel a degree of compassion for the maids that were hauling large buckets of steaming water into her room. All that work for one's comfort? She turned to Ainsware and noticed she was opening a small vial. She followed her to the entrance of the wash room as the copper tub was being filled and saw her empty the contents of the vial into the tub. A fragrant scent filled the air and she was more than ready to soak herself in the scented water. She was tired, dirty, and muddy and if that was not terrible enough, she also smelled like an unwashed pig pen. The tub was filled not long after and the maids left the room. Ithílwyn turned to Ainsware, wondering when she was going to leave her to bathe in peace. She stood fixatedly at the large tub, filled with glorious warm water, imagining how wonderful it would feel to have the water embracing her dirty skin. It would be rude to ask Ainsware to leave her, and she impatiently awaited the woman's absence. That was why she did not notice Ainsware staring at her until she cleared her throat. Surprised, she turned to look at Ainsware.

"Your clothes, dearie." She pointed to Ithílwyn's dirty dress.

"You mean..." Ainsware nodded.

"No one enters a bath fully clothed, my dear girl," she replied.

"Yes, that I know, but,"

"But?"

"I thought I would be alone, when I bathed." Ainsware laughed.

"No, no, I shall give you a bath. And I do not want to hear any more protests from you. If you do not want me to see your naked body, then I shall turn my back while you undress and get yourself into the tub. But you only have twenty counts, so be quick."

"But Ainsware, I..."

"One, two," Ainsware began her count, thoroughly enjoying herself. Scrambling, Ithílwyn hurriedly removed her clothes and got into the tub, making a small wave when she entered hastily. "Eighteen," Ainsware called as she heard the water splashing behind her. "I presume you are safely under the water then?"

"Yes," she replied meekly, already feeling significantly relaxed on account of being soaked in fragrant soapy water. Ainsware turned around and smiled at her.

"I can bathe myself, really," she pleaded one last time.

"I know dear, but you are a guest and you shall be treated like one." With that, Ithílwyn was silenced and she watched in fear as Ainsware rolled up her sleeves and got to work. The older woman plunged her hands in the water and Ithílwyn gasped. "Ithílwyn was it? Relax dear, I will not hurt you. Goodness! Alright, alright, I will only wash the parts of you that I can see. I promise." Ithílwyn looked everywhere else but at Ainsware who held up soapy hands in peace. Slowly, she nodded and shifted her gaze to Ainsware, who smiled and shook her head at her. "Shall we begin then?" Ithílwyn nodded again and Ainsware quickly started with her hair, her fingers kneading into her scalp. Ithílwyn melted into her experienced movements, feeling all anxiety and fear melt into the water.

"You are an orphan, Ithílwyn?"

She was so calm and serene that for it took her a few moments to understand what Ainsware was asking her.

"Hmm? Oh, uh yes."

"Poor thing, if you do not mind me asking, what happened to your parents?"

"Uh, well my father disappeared when I was a baby and my mother died at my birth." Ithílwyn wondered what Ainsware's expression was in response to her answer. She received no reply from her but felt her hands kneading at the base of her scalp. The sensation was absolutely delightful as she felt particularly sore in that area and she groaned, feeling fortunate that Ainsware had insisted on giving her a bath after all. When Ainsware had washed her hair and had scrubbed her neck and arms, Ithílwyn was finally given some privacy to wash herself. She did so gladly, scrubbing at her dirty skin and making sure that each crevice was cleaned. After she was clean, she soaked a while in the water, sinking down until the water lapped at her collarbone. She stayed motionless until she rubbed her fingertips together and realized they were terribly wrinkled and decided to ascend from the water. She wrapped her body in the towels that had been left for her by Ainsware and came out of the wash room. Ainsware was standing by the bed, awaiting her. Ithílwyn was startled to the point where she came close to screaming and jumped two steps back, hand on her chest.

"You startled me," she gasped, breathing in deeply.

"I assure you that it was not my intention to do so." Ainsware pointed to the large bed where a stack of folded fabrics lay. "I have laid out some clothes for you. May I suggest that you let me dry your hair before you see if they fit you?" She nodded and sat at a chair that Ainsware had gestured to. After her hair had been dried somewhat, Ainsware turned her back to give her privacy as she shed the towel and put on the undergarments and the dress. She did so rather hastily, not trusting Ainsware to not turn around at the count of twenty. "This belonged to his mother," Ainsware remarked as she helped Ithílwyn with the lacings at the back of the dress. Ithílwyn felt as if she must be in a strange dream having bathed in a tub of warm water and scented oils and now she was dressed in fine fabric. Indeed, she felt ashamed in the beautiful dress, evidently made of expensive cloth, knowing that Éomer's mother had been a respected public figure and of noble descent. She wondered if there were no other dresses in Aldburg that would befit her rank. What rank would she possess anyway? Surely it was not equal to the late Mistress of Aldburg, even she knew that. The dress fell down to the floor, as Éomer's mother had been taller and of a bigger frame than her and the dress hung on to her unflatteringly. Ainsware smiled and helped to adjust the dress to fit her slender frame, often tugging hard on the laces and causing Ithílwyn to gasp, having been accustomed to wearing loose and comfortable clothes. "There you are, all dressed and clean. Éomer has given word for you to meet him once you are deemed presentable. He awaits you in the hall." Her heart fluttered and began beating quicker at the mention of him.

"Thank you," she replied breathlessly due to the tightness around her waist and an increasing anticipation to meet Éomer again. Besides that, she appreciated the kindness and understanding Ainsware had so graciously shown to her.

Ainsware smiled in reply and shrugged. "Wait a moment, let me fix your hair first, young women should not wear their hair loose in the presence of a man." Ithílwyn did not understand why loose hair was prohibited, but she did not argue with Ainsware as she was not in her home anymore. She realized then that there must be other rules practiced here that she must now comply with. She will just have to ask Ainsware another time then, as her toes were currently itching, waiting to fly down to the hall where Éomer was waiting. She felt Ainsware's fingers weaving themselves through her hair, combing it down.

"You have lovely hair, my dear," Ainsware complimented. She blushed at the praise.

"Thank you," she replied politely.

"Did your mother possess dark hair too?"

"Uh, hm I suppose so. My sister was fair haired, and she said that Father had been fair haired too."

"Sister?!" Ainsware exclaimed, the brush travelling halfway through Ithílwyn's hair.

"It is a long tale to tell," Ithílwyn sighed.

"Do not fret my dear, I have a strong feeling that we will be spending much time in each other's company, so there will be plenty of time to tell me that long story of yours." From the reflection of the mirror, she spotted Ainsware winking at her. Her only response was to smile weakly. Ainsware turned her attention back to brushing Ithílwyn's hair, much to the younger woman's relief. She watched as Ainsware braided and arranged her hair. It was her first experience of having another person touching her hair since her mother used to braid her hair when she was much younger. When Ainsware deemed her presentable, she was ushered out of the room and escorted to the hall. "Éomer seems to be quite enamoured of you." She blushed at the older woman's observation.

"I do not think he harbours such strong feelings as you have said." Ainsware shrugged.

"While it is true that he has had his fair share of trysts in the past, somehow I sense that there is a difference in the way he perceives you. Perhaps you are different, young Ithílwyn?" Ainsware smiled teasingly at her and she smiled shyly in reply, feeling smaller and more insignificant. The older woman cleared her throat. "Well, we have arrived at the hall." She opened the door and pushed Ithílwyn inside. "Goodbye, I hope to see you in the morning." The door was shut in her face and she took a deep breath before turning around, marvelling at the intricately carved wooden beams and the rich tapestries that hung on the wall.

"Good evening," Éomer greeted, sidling up to her. She had been far too occupied gaping at the interior architecture that she had not noticed him. He had also bathed and was dressed in a plain green shirt that revealed a little of his bare chest, his hair hanging loosely about his face. She liked that he wore a calm and peaceful expression about him, it made him more handsome than she was normally accustomed to, not that _that_ was a bad thing. But the absence of dirt and grass on his clothes held its own appeal.

"You are clean," she remarked amusedly before she could stop herself.

He chuckled. "And so are you," he replied, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. She felt a slight flick of his tongue on her skin and felt her cheeks warm. He smiled teasingly at her.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you. You uh, you look very handsome." She returned his compliment with a hot face. He smiled charmingly at her and she felt her knees weaken. He placed her arm in his and escorted her to a table in front of them.

"I wanted us to have a meal together. Do you mind?" She shook her head ardently, hearing the words 'us' and 'together' with secret delight. He seated her and took his seat opposite her, flashing her a boyish grin as he sat. Inside she was tingling with excitement and she wondered if one could burst of joy. The aroma of the food wafted into her nose and she eyed the delicious spread of food laid out on the table before her. She could feel saliva welling up in her mouth and gulped it down quickly. Surely all this food could not be for merely two people!

"Please do not be afraid to take as much as you want." She froze, wondering what to eat first. The table was laden with good food: roasted chicken, a large slab of basted ham, buttered and baked potatoes, fragrant stewed garden vegetables, warm bread rolls and syrupy fruit. It was a real dilemma to decide. He must have sensed her hesitation because he wrested the thigh of the chicken and placed it on her plate. "Here, try this first."

"Thank you." He placed a bread roll and ladled vegetables on to her plate. He watched her as she spooned the vegetables in her mouth.

"I will keep you well fed, just you wait and see," he threatened, waving a chicken wing in her direction. She laughed and bit into her chicken thigh, savouring the taste. He wiggled his eyebrows at her when she finished the food on her plate and reached out to take more. "Are you inclined to finishing all my food?" he teased. Indignantly, she reached out to take a baked potato and launched it at him. He caught it easily, much to her disappointment, laughing at her response. He broke the potato in two and dipped one half in the buttery sauce, holding it out to her. She reached out to take it from his hand but he withdrew his offer, shaking his head.

"Open your mouth," he ordered. She obeyed and he placed the buttery chunk in her mouth, watching her eyes open in amazement. "Delicious eh?" She nodded in clear agreement, letting the sauce dribble down her chin. His eyes followed the trail down her chin and he had the strangest desire to lick the sauce off her skin. She wiped the sauce trail with the back of her hand and smiled ashamedly. He turned away and busied himself with carving the ham, piling a great deal on his plate. He was ravenous after the stressful ordeal in the forest and he was going to stuff himself full tonight. Her plate was empty again and he carved more meat to put on her plate. He spied her hand reaching out for a baked potato and smiled to himself. She caught him smiling at her and stared at him with a right cheek the approximate size of half a potato. Chewing consciously, she tried to think what she had done that caused him to smile. She swallowed and asked "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, no you are not. Please continue eating." He added more food to her plate and to his as well, aware that she was eyeing him suspiciously. She shrugged and continued eating. He hated how he seemed to always be at a loss for words when he was conversing with her. She was busy stuffing her face, still famished even after two plate of food. It struck guilt in him for she had used up her food supply to feed them that she had been deprived and forced to bear her hunger patiently.

"How did Ainsware treat you? I hope you find her friendly enough," he asked, glad that he had thought of a question.

"She is," Ithílwyn began with her mouth full before realising that it was rude of her to do so and swallowed her half chewed food. "Lovely."

"Really?" he was genuinely and pleasantly surprised at her reply.

"Why are you surprised?" she asked, her lips turning up with humour.

"Between you and me," he whispered, leaning in closer. She imitated his movement, leaning over to listen. "Ainsware has spanked my bottom the most." Ithílwyn burst into peals of laughter. "I assure you that it is not a laughing matter to have your bottom spanked as a young boy, especially as Ainsware is well known for using a firm hand when she smacks anybody."

"I am sure it is because you were a naughty child."

He shook his head indignantly. "Not naughty, adventurous. I was adventurous as a child; and when I was not on an adventure, I behaved exceedingly well." She snorted and laughed, knowing that it was not true.

"She treated me very well, and she gave me your mother's dress to wear," Ithílwyn said and leaned back to show him more of the dress. The slight smile on Éomer's face disappeared and he wore a sombre expression.

"Yes, there are not many women in Aldburg and even lesser spare dresses. Although this was not what I had in mind when I asked Ainsware to dress you. I hope you are not overly fond of the dress, I would like to ask Ainsware to get some new dresses made for you." His reaction puzzled her.

"I _would_ like to wear this dress often; it is a beautiful and well made dress. Truthfully, and I do appreciate your kindness, but I will not be offended if I have to wear old dresses." He sighed and she wondered why he looked so pained.

"If you do not want me to wear this dress then I will not."

"It is not that Ithílwyn, please do not get the wrong impression, I merely wanted you to have new memories here in Aldburg. Besides, that dress has long been out of fashion and I am sure you would like new dresses. They will fit you much better than a dress belonging to a woman long gone." She nodded, knowing he had felt uncomfortable discussing about his late mother. She did not know, however, that the mere sight of his mother's dress would upset him. Something was wrong here.

"Do you want to talk about her?" she asked gently, knowing he was not the sort to reveal his emotions.

"My mother?! Absolutely not!" he raised his voice, and she saw that he was gripping his knife tightly and she regretted that she had asked him such a thing.

"Here, have some vegetables," she said, changing the topic while ladling some stew on his plate, hoping that he would not be displeased at her brazen question.

He did not reply and they continued eating in silence. Feeling awkward and guilty, her appetite vanished and she struggled to finish the pile of food on her plate, knowing that an unfinished plate would be insulting.

"I apologise for my outburst earlier," he said in a regretful tone after a while. She was surprised that he had not found fault in her.

"No, it is I who apologise," she said, covering his hand with hers. "I should not have pressed you for an explanation. I am sure you will tell me when you feel it is right. And if you do not want to talk about it ever again, then I am fine with that too, honestly." He nodded wearily, gripping her hand. She smiled at him and pushed the side of his mouth up with a finger. He asked her what she was doing in mumbles as he could not speak clearly with one side of his mouth pushed up.

"Helping you smile," she replied simply and before he could react, she had pushed the other side of his mouth up with another finger. "There you go," she remarked and laughed. Éomer cast an unamused look at her antics and pushed her meddling hands away. He noticed her plate was empty of food and tried to scoop more food but she vehemently protested and it was her turn to push his hand away.

"I am full to bursting," she confessed wearily. Éomer stifled a chuckle.

"So am I, and if I guess correctly, then you must be exhausted by now."

"It is tiring to push the corners of your mouth," she teased. He rolled his eyes at her.

"You should have known better than that, silly. Come, let me escort you back to your room, it is getting late and you need your sleep." He offered his hand and she took it. He placed her hand in the crook of his arm.

"Éomer?"

"Hmm?"

"I was wondering how Aldric has been faring since we arrived." He smiled at her query and of her concern for Aldric.

"I have not seen him yet, but I trust that he is in good hands. He should have been treated and will now be resting in the infirmary. Stanhelm, the healer here has assured me that he will live, so do not fret. I was considering visiting him tomorrow, would you like to see him too?" She nodded, relieved that Aldric would be safe and healthy after all. They remained quiet as walked along, Ithílwyn hearing nothing except the sound of Éomer's footsteps and the swishing of her skirts.

"Éomer?" she called again, and they were both relieved to be rid of the silence between them.

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes, actually. It is about Freckles. I would like to see to her as well, I am afraid that she will not react kindly to her new surroundings. Not that your men are not well trained enough to look after her, I am certain they are highly skilled. But my mare might not be used to a stranger's touch and I want to make certain that she is comfortable here."

"Of course. We shall remedy that tomorrow," he replied and she smiled back at him.

He yawned tiredly and she did the same. She laughed when he covered her mouth with his hand as she yawned, giving him a light shove for his juvenile move. She was pleased however, that he was light-hearted enough to tease her. His carefree and playful expression making her heart skip a beat.

"This is my room," he motioned to a door on his left. "And your room is right here." She was surprised at how close their rooms were and wondered if he had placed her room near to his on purpose.

"It is so I may keep a watch over you," he whispered sinisterly in her ear, surprising her. She scowled at him. He smiled down at her, ignoring her scowl and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was gentle and sweet and she nearly sighed happily.

"Ainsware arranged your hair?" She nodded wordlessly, feeling her throat dry up. "It is nice," he murmured, drawing closer to her. She could feel his warmth enveloping her and she stared at his approaching lips. Her gaze drifted up to his dark eyes, feeling locked in place as she waited for his kiss. She closed her eyes as his lips barely brushed over hers, surprised at his sudden tenderness. He kissed her softly and pulled away, leaving her feeling bereft of his presence.

"Goodnight, Ithílwyn. I shall see you tomorrow," he said with a ragged breath.

"Goodnight," she squeaked. He nodded, turned around and headed back to his room. She entered her room and shut the door, leaning her forehead on the surface of the door, wondering how she was to go to sleep when her heart was racing so fast it was about to fly out of her chest. Still she was puzzled as to why he had not furthered his kisses. They had done far more intimate activities than the soft kiss that had just took place outside her door. She blushed, placing her hand over the burning cheeks. She went over to a basin of water and splashed cool water on her face.

"Ithílwyn, you have to calm yourself down," she chided herself and tried to breathe in and out steadily. She spied a nightgown on her bed that Ainsware must have placed thoughtfully. She tried to remove the dress she was wearing as the nightgown was not much of a suitable alternative to fall asleep in. However, the laces were placed at her back and since Ainsware was not there to help her, she was forced to face her back to the mirror and strain her neck as she slowly untied the laces one by one. She hoped that dawn would not sneak up on her while she was undoing the laces; she was exhausted after all the travelling and she desperately wanted to sleep and rest her weary body. Her brow creased in determined concentration, she finally undid the last lacing and slipped out of the dress, remembering briefly that it had caused Éomer distress. For his sake, she hoped he would tell someone what he kept hidden in his chest. Laying his mother's dress carefully on a chair, she stepped over to her bed and put on her nightgown, revelling in the feel of the soft, comfortable fabric. She crawled on to the large bed and lay down, unaccustomed to a feather bed and soft sheets underneath her back. Her days of sleeping in furs were over, and she could not decide if that made her happy or wistful. Pulling the covers over her, she thought of how she was to acclimatise with the life here when she had lived so differently before. She sat up and pressed her hand into the large and soft pillows. She only slept with pillows when she travelled and stayed at the inn, and she was glad that she was given four now. The bed was wide and long, and she felt very small and lonely. Suddenly reminded of what her mother had told her before she passed. Her mother had not been shy of expressing her desire for Ithílwyn to meet a man and fall in love, achieving the wish Finríel lost. She sat on the bed, twiddling her thumbs, because she was nervous, and scared that she may be, might possibly be in love with the Third Marshal of the Riddermark and what it would mean in the days to come. She sighed and fell back on the bed, sinking into the mattress. She squirmed a little before turning onto her side, feeling the exhaustion creep back into her muscles. She yawned again and closed her eyes, drifting into a fitful sleep.

Ithílwyn woke up, eyelids fluttering in its reluctance to open. Her mind did not recognise her surroundings, and she wondered briefly where she was before remembering that she was in Aldburg. She sat up in bed and rubbed her sleepy eyes, looking at the bed she had slept in which had everything she was not used to: a feather mattress, fluffy pillows and silky sheets. She shifted her gaze to the window, squinting at the light filtering through, gasping as she noticed that the sun had risen high in the air. "It must be noon already!" she chided herself, never having woken at so late an hour. She stumbled over the bed post and fell on her behind.

"Oww," she groaned, rubbing her sore backside. She gripped the bedpost with one hand as she brought herself up on her feet. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and blinked at the strange room with its wooden walls and the unfamiliar hearth. Where was Ainsware? And why did she not wake her up this morning? And then she remembered what she was to do today. Aldric! She was supposed to pay him a visit this morning, Freckles too. She sighed, upset that she had made such a stupid mistake. Going over to the basin, she splashed her face with cold water and wiped her face with a nearby towel hurriedly. She stared at the blue dress she wore the night before and seeing as she had no other choice of clothing, she would have to bear wearing Éomer's mother dress for a short while. At that moment however, she heard a few raps at the door and heard someone calling her name.

"Ithílwyn!"

"Is that you, Ainsware?" she asked, not knowing if she could trust anyone else here yet.

"Yes dear girl. May I enter?"

"Yes, please," she replied with a slight hint of desperation as she heard Ainsware opening the door.

"Well, good morning to you, I trust that you have slept well."

"Good morning, Ainsware. And yes, i am well rested, although I suppose I have slept too well," she replied guiltily, hoping Ainsware would not think her azy and rude to wake at such an hour.

"Do not feel guilty, I understand that you have endured a perilous journey to arrive here. Besides, the master of Aldburg is still fast asleep. I expect you are hungry eventhough you have eaten much for last night's dinner. Breakfast has been served and cleared unfortunately," she paused to smile slyly at Ithílwyn, "but we are about to lunch soon, so we will get you dressed and then we shall see to waking up the cow sleeping in the room not far from yours." Ithílwyn stifled a giggle. Ainsware smiled back at her and helped her in to the dresser chair.

"I think we should start from the top," Ainsware remarked, patting Ithílwyn's head. The younger woman gasped, realizing that she had slept in the same arrangement as the night before. She reached out to touch her hair, hoping that her head would not be too much of a mess.

"How is it?"

"It is fine, dear. It is a little messy, but I happen to possess the remedy," Ainsware replied, holding up a hairbrush and smiling at her. "Do not fret overmuch, your hair will soon be fine. Now sit still and do not disturb me. Unless you would like to tell me about your story, only that will I allow." Ithílwyn laughed.

"Alright then, but I must request not to be interrupted." Ainsware pretended to be dipleased at her request and her falsified annoyed expression made Ithílwyn laugh some more. "I grew up in a small village near the Aldwode. My sister and her husband raised me in their home. All I know about my father was that he charged my sister to care for me while he went in search for a relative. He did not return, and so I do not know if his search proved fruitless. When I was but a girl, a band of Orcs raided and burnt my village. My sister and I fled in the direction of the forest, as her husband had advised us to. She did not reach the edge," here Ithílwyn paused and swallowed the growing lump in her throat, "yet she screamed at me to run, and so I ran as fast as my legs could take me deep into the forest. And promptly found myself lost and bewildered. I wandered aimlessly, exhausted with lack of food and I fell into a deathly sleep. Until Finríel found me."

"And I resume Finríel is your foster mother?" Ainsware interrupted, tapping her chin with the hairbrush thoughtfully before realizing that she had cut off the story with her words. Ithílwyn nodded and parted her lips, ready to continue the story. "Finríel lived in the woods long before me. She escaped from the city and chose a life of solitude and peace in a cave in the woods. She found me and brought me to her home and healed me. She comforted me in my grief, in the loss of my family, and took upon herself the role of my mother and my mentor." Ithílwyn stopped to wipe her misty eyes. She apologised for crying and sniffled.

"What happened to her?" Ainsware inquired in a soft voice.

"She passed not long ago, she was ill." Ainsware's features softened and she place a warm hand on Ithílwyn's shoulder.

"I am truly sorry to hear such news. You must miss her terribly." Ithílwyn nodded, fighting a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill out her eyes. "I think we should continue this story another day, I am sure you have plans for today that are of an urgent nature. We must haste then, or lse you will get no lunch. Come now, and dress, I have already braided you hair." Ithílwyn reached behind and brushed her fingers over the simple braid that hung at her back. She had not noticed it, and it made her wonder if Ainsware had pretended to fix her hair when it had already been done. She must be really curious about her if she would resort to such tricks. But she knew Ainsware had a good heart and would not seek her harm, and for that she was indeed grateful.

* * *

**A/N: The chapter was initially meant to be about 1000/2000 words longer but I was so lazy and I just wanted to post something up (not very professional, I know). Also, tell me what you thought of the dinner scene, it was fun to write, and re-write and I hope that their interaction brought a smile to your face. And I will stop here.**


	14. Romantic Antics

** So you thought you would wait two weeks for the next chapter?! I think not! **

**Please enjoy, and if it feels a little disjointed, it is because I have split the chapters somewhat as I have made the chapters too long, so overlook that if you please. This chapter is a gift to _almythea_ for her encouragement and support, also to those who are still reading and are following this story. Peace out!**

* * *

Chapter 14

Romantic Antics

It was not long before Ithílwyn was dressed in another one of Éomer's mother's dresses, which caused her some discomfort as she knew he would not react positively if he recognised what she was wearing. Under no circumstance would she want him to frown again. Ainsware had assured her that Éomer would not recollect seeing his mother in that dress due to the fact that Théodwyn had never worn the pale pink dress with floral embroidery along the bottom hem after she married. Ainsware knew more about Éomer's family than she, so she put her trust in the older woman and donned the dress, glad that Ainsware did not tug too tightly at the laces of the bodice. She had eaten far too much the night before.

"Ainsware, how long have you lived in Aldburg?" Ithílwyn asked, deciding that if she was to tell her story, then she might as well hear Ainsware's story.

"Oh, a very long time now. I was born here, my mother was a maidservant and my father was a stablehand, and that did not give me much choice but to stay and work here as my parents did. I was Éomer and Éowyn's nurse when they were but babies."

"Éomer said you spanked his bottom the most times."

"He was a terror, and someone had to deal with him. Has he said otherwise? Hmph, he pretends he was a sweet obedient child when he tormented his sister and almost set fire to the stables. He used to cut holes in all the bed cloths and he had a bad habit of sleeping in his muddy boots. It was considered a grave punishment to clean his boots, I will have you know." Ithílwyn could not stop laughing.

"You poor thing," she sympathised.

"Yes, my life was not easy with him around. But he grew up wrong, the poor boy. He lost his parents young, and as much as he tortured Éowyn, he loved her and took her as his responsibility. Their uncle took them to Edoras to live with him and stationed a new Third Marshal here. When he was but a youth, the king appointed Éomer Third Marshal and he returned to Aldburg. I did not recognise the man that walked through the door. Life has made him a hard man, Ithílwyn." The younger woman pondered a while on that.

"What about you? Your story."

Ainsware laughed, tying the laces together. "My story?" Ithílwyn nodded.

"I afraid it will have to wait another day, my dear. I have finished with you, and you must eat." Ithílwyn gave a disappointed pout and Ainsware chuckled as she patted her hand reassuringly. "There, there, when there is spare time, we shall share our stories. But you have plans to carry out, and I cannot interfere." Ithílwyn had almost forgotten about the visits she had planned to make. Ainsware and she walked to the empty hall where she was left alone once again. She sat down at one of the tables and wondered who she was waiting for. Éomer? She fiddled with the skirts of her dress, observing the detail of the exquisite embroidery. She soon grew bored of that activity and got up to walk around the hall. It was a large hall and she stared at the wooden beams, and the carvings of Riders on their galloping horses. Her attention turned next to the pillars, the magnificent woodwork and the intricate knots woven around the pillar catching her eye.

"I see that the pillars in Aldburg have fascinated you," Éomer teased from behind, startling her.

"Éomer!" she exclaimed, turning around to face him. He placed a hand on the same pillar she was admiring and flaunted a boyish smirk.

"I never knew that the pillars of Aldburg would impress you so. If I had known, I would surely have told you about them whilst you were still hesitating about the decision to leave."

"It is a beautiful pillar, but I would prefer the bole of a tree to this pillar."

"I shall try to replace the pillars with trees, but I doubt the carpenters would agree with me. Please do not hit me, I was teasing. I only ask for a peaceful meal." She stuck her tongue out at him, aware that it was a childish reaction. But his reaction surprised her; he pecked her on the cheek and in one fluid movement, he put her arm in his and led her away from the pillar and to the table. While she had been admiring the interior aesthetic of the hall, maids had been placing food on the table. She took his seat and caught the maids casting curious glances at her. Éomer poured watered down ale for the both of them and dismissed them. She brushed the discomfort their glances gave her and decided to enjoy the meal.

"Would you like to see Aldric after lunch? The infirmary is on the other side of the hall."

She nodded and thanked him as he placed fried eggs on her plate. He smiled briefly before serving himself and Ithílwyn stared a little longer, wondering if he knew how handsome he appeared when his lips curved up.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Hmm?" she asked, jolted out of her reverie. "Oh, uh..." she stuttered, not knowing how to answer his question. Her cheeks grew hot and she stared fixatedly at her eggs, hoping that they would provide her with the words she needed.

"Is it my beard?" he asked, scratching his prickly chin. She exhaled in relief. "I have yet to trim my beard. Do you think it is too long?" he asked. She shook her head and laughed at how concerned he looked. He pushed his chin closer to her as she reached out to touch his beard.

"It is not that long," she commented.

"You think so?" he asked, casting an unchaste glare at her, causing her cheeks to burn up again. "I do not want my men to think that I am lazy in maintaining my appearance. Why are you blushing? Is there something you are thinking about that you should tell me about?"

"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head for good measure and avoiding the hot stare of his dark eyes.

"I would not blush if I was thinking about nothing, Ithílwyn. It does not matter, you will tell me tonight, or tomorrow night or the next night. It does not really matter to me because I will know." Her jaw dropped at how insolent he was behaving and in her frustration at dealing with such a pig-headed man, she threw a tomato at him. He caught it and placed it back on the table.

"Oh, are we tossing tomatoes during lunch and potatoes during dinner? I am glad that you prioritise variety, but then again, you have always proven yourself exceedingly entertaining." His tone infuriated her and she snorted at his mock flattery. Her stomach growled however, and the effect was lost. "Your stomach grows impatient and we should eat before the food grows cold. You may enlighten me later," he remarked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. She was in a state of disbelief at how relentless he was in teasing her and threw a strawberry at him. This time however, he caught it with his mouth, and Ithílwyn would be impressed if she was not so furious with him. He grinned at her and she felt her anger dissipate.

"I must warn you," he chewed and swallowed, "that throwing food at others represents a very childish behaviour and it is frowned upon in this hall," he chided, trying to keep a straight face. He scooped more food on her plate. "Please do take my advice and eat your meal in peace, spare my servants from the arduous work of clearing up your mess." Ithílwyn burst out laughing and he could not help but laugh along with her.

"I have but one complaint. There is no food on the pristine floor, oh Third Marshal."

"That is because you have swept all the fallen food under your skirts." She pretended to be offended by his unrealistic accusation.

"I can assure you that that is not true."

"How shall you prove it then?" he asked, smirking.

She laughed and leaned forward to whisper, "If you are trying to get me to lift my skirts for you, I will inform you now that your efforts are in vain."

"We shall see about that tonight," he replied and winked at her. At that time, she felt something tickling her knee.

"Éomer!" she exclaimed.

"What is it?" he asked innocently. She opened her mouth to reply but his hand was moving onward to her thigh and his gentle ministrations had her throat dry. "That is but a taste of what I have planned for you tonight."

"T-tonight?" He nodded slowly.

"But first, we must eat and then we must see to Aldric. And Freckles too." She nodded, slightly dazed at what he had just mentioned to her. Tonight?

* * *

After their meal, he escorted her to the infirmary. There were a few men lying on the sickbeds, some were in states of recovery, and others were, in a lot of pain. Aldric had been placed at the far end, and nearest to the window, where the only source of light in the room came from. The infirmary was a dark and uncomfortable place to be. Surprisingly Aldric looked significantly healthier after just one night in Aldburg, although Ithílwyn suspected it was because he was not on a horse any longer, and he was not sprawled unconscious on the stable floor. He smiled when he saw the two of them. Ithílwyn was delighted that he was safe and on the mend and she wrapped her arms around him. He pecked her on the cheek and they let go. Aldric greeted Éomer with a cheeky smile and he slapped his friend on the back in reply. The infirmed friend was not pleased at all, grimacing in pain.

"Hnestly, Éomer. I am injured and in pain. Is there a need for you to hit me with such force?"

"My apologies, Aldric. It is only because you look so deceptively healthy that I have hit you so." Aldric scowled, but it was obvious that he did not mind. "I hope you have not tormented any of the nurses while you have been here."

Aldric rolled his eyes. "I was asleep until late in the morning, and awoke with a strong feeling to vomit, so assuredly, I have not the mood to torture any nurse here. Stanhelm will vouch for my good behaviour if you do not believe me."

"When have I ever believed you?" Éomer retorted and the two friends laughed. Ithílwyn smiled as she watched the two exchanged friendly verbal blows to each other. "Aldric, if you ever charge mindlessly at another Uruk, I will personally kill you, you understand? It was not a pleasant task to haul your half dead arse back to Aldburg with vomit in my saddle."

"I was merely complimenting your horsemanship, my friend." He stopped and sighed. "But I admit that it was foolish of me to do such a thing. Now that I think of it, it is hard to remember why I did what I did."

"It is because your blood boils too quickly."

"At least it simmers down as quick, Éomer." Ithílwyn was confused at the sudden change in tone of the conversation between the two men. It had been jovial and playful bantering, but now it was serious and there was an odd tension between the two. Éomer did not reply his friend.

At length, Aldric spoke again. He turned to her this time and inquired, "How are you faring? I hope he has been paying enough attention to you." Her cheeks pinked.

"Yes, he has," she replied.

"And exactly how much attention has he been-"

"Aldric!" boomed Éomer and Aldric casted a pointed glare at him. Ithílwyn wondered why Éomer had flared up so suddenly. If it were not for the intrusion of an older man in a green robe fastened with a leather belt of good quality, she was sure Éomer would have strangled Aldric. Ithílwyn stared at the stranger, although she supposed that it was she who was the stranger.

"Good day, my lord Éomer. I see you have come to entertain Master Aldric here."

"He has proven himself a fine entertainer indeed," Aldric drawled from the sick bed. Éomer, who had turned to greet the older man, turned back to glare threateningly at Aldric.

"And who may this be?" the newcomer asked, turning to Ithílwyn. His eyes carried wisdom and it was odd to say this, but he radiated peace, which could account for Éomer not harming Aldric.

"My name is Ithílwyn," she said and bowed. He bowed as well and smiled at her.

"She is the woman we sought aid from in the forest, Stanhelm."

"She saved my life," Aldric interjected from behind.

"As well as the lives of many others," added Éomer, who smiled at Ithílwyn. She blushed, not used to receiving such commendation, especially if they came from acclaimed warriors.

"Ithílwyn, meet Stanhelm. He is the healer of Aldburg and the master of the infirmary." Stanhelm laughed at Éomer's introduction.

"I heard that you are a healer as well?" he asked. She nodded.

"I am not as highly skilled as you might think. I have much to learn still," she admitted.

"So do all of us. I am glad that you have come, perhaps I will find in you a worthy colleague to discuss common interests in. We must talk someday, I have a strong feeling there is much that we can learn from each other." Ithílwyn smiled at the kindly healer. Indeed she was eager to learn more about healing and helping others. She was sure there were many things Stanhelm could teach her. He must have accumulated much knowledge and wisdom in his years and she felt privileged to be able to learn from him.

"I am afraid I have to leave you now, there are a few medicinal errands I need to see to. And I do believe that Master Aldric needs to rest." He looked directly at Aldric and bowed before leaving the room.

"I am glad and relieved that you are well," she told Aldric, who smiled warmly at her.

"Yet I am forced to remain bedridden," he replied sullenly.

"He wishes greatly to cleave more Orc necks with his sword," interjected Éomer.

That I cannot deny," Aldric confessed and yawned.

"Here," Éomer said as he thrust out a wineskin at his friend. "It is your favourite ale, in case you cannot sleep and you feel inexplicably grumpy." Aldric smiled at him.

"I was wondering why you delayed in giving me this."

"Well, I had to ensure the quality before I gave it you, and I took a few sips before I could take some for you."

"Bastard," Aldric accused and then nodded apologisingly toward Ithílwyn's direction.

"Hide it well, Stanhelm will have my head if he finds out." Aldric grinned conspirationally, tapping the side of his nose. Ithílwyn stifled a giggle, amused at how boyish the two grown men were behaving.

"The lady must be bored, Éomer. Show her around Aldburg, you dolt." Ithílwyn was suddenly reminded that she had yet to see to her horse.

"Oh Freckles!" she exclaimed.

"Freckles?!"

"It is her horse," Éomer explained to a puzzled Aldric.

"You named your horse Freckles?" he asked her.

"Yes." Was she wrong in naming her horse after the pattern of her coat?

"Well, I have to admit that it is an unconventional name," Aldric remarked.

"Thank you, I think," she replied, unsure whether his remark had been a compliment or an insult.

"It is a lovely name," Éomer assured her, taking her hand in his. "Well, I think we should leave you now Aldric. Stanhelm was right, you need your rest. We shall visit you soon. Ithílwyn wants to visit the stables."

"Freckles? Alright then, leave me here to be alone and desolate," he replied sarcastically.

"It is why I brought you ale, my friend. Good bye." Éomer waved and pulled Ithílwyn along with him. She just managed to wave good bye to Aldric before she was tugged out of the infirmary by a very impatient horselord.

Éomer took her through a shortcut by way of the kitchens and she was impressed at how skilled he was in the art of stealing and concealing two carrots and an apple under his shirt without catching anyone's attention. With the theft unknown, they were able to progress to the stables, grinning and laughing. Ithílwyn was astounded at the size of Aldburg's stables. There were many others throughout the Eastmark, but she was sure this one was the largest. Éomer explained that as Aldburg was the place where an éored would be mustered in case of war, the stables had to be large to house all the horses of the Riders. He led her past a few stables and entered a slightly grander looking one.

"This is the best house for a horse in all of the Eastmark. There are only a few stalls, and the horses housed here are of great importance. As you can see, Firefoot is in his stall there, and if you look slightly ahead...," he trailed, pointing forward past Firefoot's stall. Her eyes followed and saw the familiar speckled coat.

"Freckles!" she squealed excitedly and ran forth until she came to the mare's stall. Her mare looked none the worse and for that she was relieved. She embraced her horse, heart lifted at the sight of her. Freckles whinnied, and Ithílwyn knew that she was glad to see her too. Kissing the tip of Freckles' muzzle, she hardly noticed the stablehand, who had been diligently brushing the mare's coat, and was now staring curiously at her. She had been too occupied with greeting Freckles that she had not noticed him. She turned to him, a mere boy, whom she presumed to be around Erkenbrand's age. She smiled at him, running her fingers gently through Freckles' mane.

"Have you been caring for my horse?" she asked the boy politely. He nodded, still staring at her with wide eyes. She hoped that he was not afraid of her. She took the brush from the boy's hand and began to brush the mare's speckled coat.

"Has she been misbehaving?" she asked jovially. The boy seemed to relax a little.

"Not at all, miss. She is a good horse." The boy closed his mouth abruptly, as f he thought he had said far more than he was supposed to. What is it about her that caused the people here to stare at her like that?

"Hmm, that is strange. She usually misbehaves around me, do you not?" she asked, turning to Freckles, who merely licked her face in delight at seeing her mistress again. Ithílwyn laughed and caressed the horse's neck.

"Thank you for taking great pains to care for my horse. It is a strange place for her to be in and I am glad you have made her feel welcome." The boy beamed at her praise and smiled, reaching a hand out to stroke the horse. Good, she was not scaring him anymore.

"What is your name?" she inquired.

"Fram, my lady," he replied.

"Please, Fram, do not address me as such. I am not in possession of noble titles. And I would like for you to address me by my name, Ithílwyn."

"Ithílwyn?" he asked. She was, by now accustomed to the reaction and she nodded.

"Yes, Ithílwyn," she affirmed and ruffled the boy's hair. He reminded her of Erkenbrand, and the rest of Holdbeorht's family.

"Hullo, Ithílwyn. It is a pleasure to have met you," the boy greeted shyly. She smiled, resisting the urge to squeeze the boy's cheeks.

"As it is a pleasure to meet you, Fram," she replied, lifting her skirts and curtseying as she had seen Branleah do when she greeted others of higher esteem. He smiled, pleased that she had done so even if he was a mere stable hand and the two laughed.

"Do you like horses, Fram?" she asked

"Oh, very much so my la-, uh, I mean Ithílwyn. They are wonderful creatures."

"Yes, they are wonderful creatures. Fram, when I am not here, I leave Freckles in your care. You have to promise me you will take good care of her, alright? She is a dear companion to me," she said softly, stroking Freckles' neck. "We lived together in a cave before I came here," she explained, watching as Fram's eyes widened. "She was my only companion for many lonely months, and she has been a great comfort to me at many times. And because of that, it is important that you take good care of her, Fram. She likes to be stroked right here," she says, rubbing a particular spot on the horse's back. Freckles neighed and swished her tail. "And she loves half peeled carrots," she added, rolling her eyes. "How picky can one horse be?" she huffed good-naturedly, causing Fram to laugh. Freckles was offended and pushed Ithílwyn gently with her head. "I love you nonetheless, Freckles," she said, kissing the horse.

"I will take good care of her, I promise," the boy vowed, looking astute. She laughed.

"Do not worry, I will not eat you if you forget to feed my horse, she will eat you herself," she remarked, pointing to her mare. Thankfully, Fram understood her jest and was not horrified at the thought of her rearing a child eating horse. Not that she was, because she did not think that such horses existed, which she supposed was fortunate for the children.

"I will not forget to feed her, and place fresh hay in her barn everyday."

"Alright, Fram. I believe you; I know you will take great care of her. In fact, I think Freckles is fortunate to have someone as diligent as you tending to her." The boy puffed his chest out in pride and she smiled when Freckles licked Fram's face.

Éomer appeared out of the blue, resting his arms on the door of the stall. "What is going on here Fram?" he asked. The boy had not known that the Third Marshal wwas behind him and was surprised to hear his voice.

"My lord Éomer!" he cried out, evidently startled.

"Good day Fram. How fares your day?"

"It has fared very well, my lord."

"I was talking to Guthláf earlier and he says that you have been hard-working, and have complained little. That is good to hear, lad. I hope you will continue working with such dedication. Here," he said and placed several coins in his hand.

"Thank you, my lord," he replied, amazed at Éomer's generousity.

"Go home lad, you have done much for today. I have spoken to Guthláf, he has given you permission to return. Goodbye."

The boy was beside himself in joy, nodding frantically and dashing out the stables. Ithílwyn smiled at him.

"You were very kind to him," she remarked, brushing Freckles' coat.

"His mother is a widow. His father died in my arms. A noble man, courageous and strong until the very end. The boy has three sisters, and they are not wealthy. He is a good lad, and he deserved those coins."

She did not speak as he had unveiled another side to his character that she had not seen before. "It must be a hard life for him," she commented. Éomer fed Freckles an apple he had stolen and patted her muzzle and nodded grimly.

"Good girl," he whispered to her mare.

"There are many more like him in Aldburg and in Rohan, fatherless children who would never hear their father's last declaration of love for them as they lay dying." She placed a hand on his arm, to tell him he need not bear the grief alone. He blinked slowly and lowered his head.

She embraced him, holding him close to her. He enveloped her in his strong arms and breathed in deeply. They stayed in each other's arms for a while, until Freckles grew impatient and nudged Éomer, causing him to stumble and fall into the hay, bringing Ithílwyn along with him in a graceless descent. Their fall was cushioned by the soft hay and Ithílwyn laughed when she attempted to get up.

"Bad Freckles," she chided. Éomer laughed beside her heartily, leaning on the wall to bring himself up. He helped her up and grinned at how dishevelled she looked with bits of hay sticking out of her hair.

"You should not laugh at me, you cruel man. It is not as if you do not have hay on you as well," she protested. He looked down at his body and realized she was right. They spent a considerable amount of time brushing bits of hay from their clothes.

"Here, let me help you," she said, ridding his hair of hay. He had to bend his knees as he was much taller than her. It was torture to be facing her chest directly, especially as she was stretching constantly as she was working, causing the fabric to stretch against her the swell of her breasts. But the torture did not last long, and it was his turn to groom her.

"If you push me again, Freckles, I swear I will not bring you anymore apples," Éomer threatened as he separated Ithílwyn's soft dark hair from hay. When they were free of the yellow stalks, they stood outside of Freckles' stall. He held out his reins. "I think your horse wants her mistress to take her on a ride across the plains. Firefoot, as it happens, wishes that I do the same as well. For the sake of our horses, I propose we should bring them out for much needed exercise. So, what do you reckon?" he smiled charmingly at her and she could not help but laugh, and then nod. For what else was a woman to when a handsome man asked her to accompany him as he exercised his horse? Her reward for accepting his offer was a somewhat shy, and exceedingly adorable smile spread across his face. He watched her mount Freckles, who as it seemed, was not opposed to exercise after she had galloped a full day the day before. She waited as he got up on his horse with practiced ease. They both rode bareback, riding out into the green plains. The two tried to outride each other, the wind blowing their hair back. At times, Ithílwyn would pull away ahead before Éomer grinned and nudged Firefoot and he would overtake her. Before long, Ithílwyn would catch up with them on Freckles and the cycle would repeat.

* * *

It was a while later that they dismounted, sensing that their horses were weary and needed a rest. They were laughing, blood still racing from the thrills of riding dangerously quick across the vast green fields. There was a small pond nearby and the horses were allowed to drink and graze. Éomer led Ithílwyn to a small hill and after removing his cloak and laying it on the ground; he sat down, patting the empty place next to him. She understood his gesture and sat by his side. They turned their faces to admire the evening sky, now coloured with red and orange streaks, causing the clouds to look almost golden, the sinking sun a bright half circle in the middle, slowly vanishing behind the jagged outline of the golden tipped mountains. He sat with his arms behind him, palms laid flat on the ground and legs stretched out on the ground while she tucked her legs to one side. There was a subtle change in Éomer's countenance since he had returned. He was full of youth once more, carefree and burdenless. His laughter came forth naturally, and he was wont to smile. It made him appear very handsome indeed, heartbreakingly handsome. Being this near to him made her cheeks warm, and she turned her thoughts to the magnificent view around her. The green land had a humble sort of beauty about it. The grass seemed to turn orange as the evening sun casted its last rays before taking its usual reprieve. The wildflowers swayed gently to the rhythm of the wind. Ithílwyn lifted her head skywards and breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh air. So in awe was she of the scenery about her, that she had not noticed they had been silent the whole time. At length, he spoke.

"I miss this," he remarked, turning to her. "The Eastmark at peace, the serenity and beauty of being able to sit down on the plains without worry, the luxury of watching the clouds drift along as the sun slowly hides beneath the mountains. Yet, it is not to be, for I am certain there are Orcs trespassing into the Eastfold, breaching our borders as I speak to you," he sighed. "I suppose there is nothing to do then, but to savour this peaceful moment for remembrance, should we be cast into evil times and the grass grow not green on the plains of Rohan." She looked at him concernedly.

"Do not think about such things, does the beauty of nature remind you of war and grief? Oh, Éomer. It is to give hope, hope that light and life will prevail because it is what you fight for, what we all fight for. Is nature not wonderful?" she asked, gesturing to the view about her. No song or rhyme could do justice to the bright colours or the gentle movements of the grass and the flowers of the fields. The mountains stood firm and strong, as the sun shined bright before it was replaced by the silver lights.

"It is wonderful," he breathed, but he was not looking around her, but at her. She turned to him and smiled shyly, barely meeting his eyes. He inched closer to her, and pushed her chin up so that their eyes met. In the waning sunlight, his eyes were dark green pools dotted with brown and gold flecks. He murmured her name and stroked the side of her face tenderly and she was lost in his gaze, in his sight and at the sound of his voice.

"Your eyes are blue," he commented.

"Hmm?" she questioned, still dazed by his close presence.

"You have lovely eyes."

"I think yours are more lovely," she confessed. "They are never the same colour. At times they are dark, almost black. Sometime they are brown, shade ever changing. But now," she paused to breathe.

"How do they look like?" he asked, curious as he had never heard a woman label his eyes as lovely before.

"They are a lovely deep green, and there are spots of brown and gold in your eyes."

"Do you want to know how your eyes look like?" he asked, sure that her description would pale in comparison to his. She blushed and he answered his question.

"I shall tell you what I see."

"Be honest," she interjected.

"Hush, woman, I am complimenting you." She drew her lips into a line obediently. "In the light, your eyes are a deep blue, but the edges have a soft purple hue, like sapphires bordered by amethysts. They shine like the stars, and in my opinion, your eyes are far lovelier."

"You are lying to me," she accused, turning her face away.

"No, I am not." He took hold of her hand and turned her head to face him. "All of the wonderful and fair things that we have sat and admired about, you are the most beautiful. Why do you turn away when I say such things?"

"I think your praises are exaggerations."

"That is because you do not know the difference my dear. Have you not trusted my previous judgments?" She nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Then trust in my words when I tell you that you are beautiful." She smiled shyly and he leaned in to kiss her. It was, at first, sweet and gentle, befitting the tender moment they had shared. But they were both eager and the kiss became more desperate, rough and intimate. She lifted her chin, exposing more of her to him. He sucked on her lower lip and pulled her closer to him. Slowly, he lowered her on to his spread out cloak, tongue pressed to the inside of her cheek. She groaned, unable to take the pleasure of feeling the warmth and pressure of his body on her skin. They broke for air and he rested his forehead against hers, gasping and panting.

"We should return; it will be night soon." She nodded, even though her heart sank within her chest that the magic of the moment was gone. It had been sweet and romantic, and Éomer had been a different man, smiling instead of frowning, laughing instead of grieving, hoping and not despairing. He tried not to smile at her obvious disappointment and helped her up.

"Éomer, do you think we can do this again?" she asked shyly.

"Of course," he replied, glad that she had enjoyed her time. "But I swear that the next time I will not forget to bring a blanket or food." He shook his cloak aggressively to get rid of stubborn grass blades. She laughed.

"You should be hungry by now, and I have been a bad host."

"No, of course not," she protested, helping him put on his grass free cloak.

"Do not be silly, Ithílwyn. You need proper nourishment, especially since we have plans for tonight." She stared dumbfoundedly at him.

"What plans do we have for tonight?" she asked, sure that they had done everything: they had paid Aldric a visit in the infirmary, and she managed to see Freckles as well as to accompany Éomer on a horseride.

"Have you forgotten already?" he asked, annoyed. "Well, since you do not remember, you will have to wait and find out for yourself," he replied, smiling wickedly at her. He whistled for Firefoot and she tugged on his arm.

"What are you talking about?" she asked as Firefoot came behind him. He held the horse by the reins and rolled his eyes at her.

"The activity will require a lot of energy, so I expect you to stuff yourself during dinner. I will meet you then, wear your new dress when you come." He winked at her lecherously and mounted his horse, unwilling to explain any further. "Goodbye," he bade and Firefoot galloped off, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

"Éomer!" she shouted at the hastily retreating figure, shocked that he would give such vague details about a hastily concocted plan that she was certain she knew nothing about and then running off, leaving her alone. She stood still and sighed, wondering what the man was talking about and questioned his sanity. Also what did he mean when he asked her to wear a new dress? Had he already instructed Ainsware to get her a new dress? She whistled for Freckles and spurred the horse on to Aldburg. What had Éomer planned for tonight?! She had the oddest mixture of feelings about the night to come. There was dread, but also excitement; apprehension and yet expectation. A list of different scenarios appeared in her head. He had said that the activity would require energy expenditure and she wondered what activities there were to do in Aldburg that was of an energy consuming nature. They were definitely not playing chess then, not that she was any good at it. He would not make her clean anything, would he?

She laughed as Freckles sped up, feeling the wind whistling in her ears and her hair flying about her. But if it was Éomer, surely it would not be that bad, would it? She shrugged, remembering what Ainsware said about not arguing with the Third Marshal. She would not have a choice anyway. He was far ahead of her, him and Firefoot making a dark speck from a distance. And then a thought came to her: Surely it would not be _that_, could it?

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**Just to clarify, not a cliffhanger. See you in the next one, it might be a long time till the next one, so just hold on okay. Also, did anyone catch the'Price of Milk' reference? If you did not, then you are not a Karl Urban fan, and if you did then you would have** **probably watched far too many videos of him on YouTube.**


	15. Meals and Mistakes

**Thank you so much for your reviews and for favouriting (is that even a word?) the story. I'm so glad that people actually like it, so I'm more than happy to update future chapters now. It's just that I've been slightly busy and under the weather, so you can blame that for the delay. Enjoy this chapter!**

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Chapter 15

Meals and Mistakes

She saw him alight and disappear before she reached the stables, feeling dismayed that she had been unable to match his speed. She left Freckles in another stable hand's trusted hands, the boy staring at her curiously at her windblown hair and unkempt appearance.

"Hullo! Have you seen Éo- uh, the Third Marshal? Do you know where he has gone?" The boy stared at her blankly, wondering what the strange woman had done till she was panting for air. If Fram were here this would not be happening. Disappointed, she sighed and tried her best to smooth her hair back, feeling absolutely conscious of her appearance. Where had the blasted man disappeared to?

"I do not know, miss. He did not tell me," the boy replied, still looking at her. He seemed slightly afraid of her and she felt a twinge of guilt poke her heart for frightening the poor boy.

"It does not matter, I apologise for scaring you." She smiled at the boy and found that the other men in the stables were beginning to look her way. She continued smiling, albeit awkwardly and retreated into the safety of the hallway. Spying dirty footprints on the floor, she smiled mischieviously and was about to follow the trail when Ainsware caught her arm at that very moment.

"Ithílwyn! I have been looking everywhere for you! You look terrible, where have you been? And what have you been doing, and with who? Now I have to clean you, quickly come along, I am not as unoccupied as you think me, young woman!" Ithílwyn stood silently, not daring to even allow her toes to flinch during Ainsware's barrage of questions. She was terrified of the older woman, though she was taller by a head. Her hand was taken and the rest of her dragged in the opposite direction of the dirty trail she had fixed her intent upon earlier, to her dismay. One would think that a short, plump woman like Ainsware could not possibly be strong, but Ithílwyn begged to differ. She knew the futility of not heeding Ainsware's order however, and she followed the older woman dutifully back to her room. She was ushered in roughly by Ainsware, who was impatient and not at all pleased by Ithílwyn''s improper management of time and also because of her messy appearance. As she was pushed into the washing room, she caught a flash of crimson on her bed and then the door was shut behind her. The older woman looked at her, rolled up her sleeves and cracked her knuckles, looking every bit as intimidating as a female dragon about to eat a sheep.

"The water is not even warm anymore, I hope you realise," she commented, clucking her tongue. She turned around and Ithílwyn instinctively knew that she had a limited amount of time to undress. She stripped quickly and hopped into the tub, adjusting to the temperature of the water. She was used to bathing in cold water, and she did not mind doing so now even though the water was not in the least cold, it was just that the bath she had taken the day before had been gloriously hot and she regretted not returning sooner.

"I was out riding," she explained, before a bucket of lukewarm water was poured on her head. She spit out the water that had rushed in her mouth as she was speaking as Ainsware began kneading her scalp, rubbing soap in her hair.

"I know, dear girl. He should have been sensible enough to bring you back before the sun set. I take it that he brought you to witness one of the Mark's famous sunsets. It is his habit to turn his gaze westward, that boy. Even though he was born in the east, he is very much attached to the west, you see. His family lives there now, his uncle, the King, as well as his sister and his cousin." Ithílwyn kept quiet, allowing Ainsware to work, although she seemed rougher with her movements. Ainsware continued washing her, scrubbing her neck and her arms and her legs before speaking again. "Our sunsets are beautiful, are they not?" Ainsware asks, dumping another bucket of water over her. The drowned woman in the tub wiped the hair off her face and nodded. "Alright, I know you want some time to yourself. I will wait outside. Here is your towel," she offered but withdrew her arm when Ithílwyn reached out for it. "Do not take too long, dear one, or I will be forced to come in and get you in any state of undress you happen to be in," she warned sweetly before extending her arm put again for Ithílwyn to take the towel from her. The girl gulped and her posture shrunk, clutching the towel.

"Thank you, Ainsware," she said as the older woman turned to leave.

"Do not mention it, dear," she replied, smiling warmly at Ithílwyn. She patted the wet head and left Ithílwyn by herself. Now alone, she hung the towel by the side of the tub, careful not to get it wet as she let out a sigh and settled deeper in the water until it reached her neck. Reaching out to touch her lips which were still tingling from the kiss Éomer gave her as the sun disappeared behind the mountains; she smiled shyly at the thought of seeing him again. At the same time, she remembered the flash of scarlet she had seen on the bed before she was tossed in to the tub mercilessly and wondered if that was the dress he had briefly mentioned as he left her behind on the plains like a coward. He had asked Ainsware to make the dress, had he not? The colour made her nervous, it was a beautiful colour, striking and captivating. But she was neither and she had never worn any garment of that colour, nor dared to imagine donning such a garment. With her pale colouring, she doubted she would look attractive enough for a man as handsome and noble as her. Her hand dropped back in to the water and she sunk even lower, the water lapping gently at her lips. It was not as if she could refuse to wear the dress, it would be rude of her and she had been taught better. But what if, no, she did not think she could bear his face falling with disappointment at the unappealing sight of her. It was so quiet in the wash room she thought she was about to cry. She sighed, hating the man that had placed her in such a disadvantageous position. She was going to have to throw something messier than a potato or a tomato at him later.

Yet, a small voice reminded her that he had called her beautiful as they sat side by side, their faces turned toward the wast. He noticed her eyes, and had approved of them. Surely he was not so fickle a man that he would change his mind because she was not wearing the same dress. She breathed in deeply, steeling her will and remembering Ainsware's warning before she had left. Finishing her bath quickly, she wrapped herself in the towel and stepped outside. Ainsware was seated on a chair by the dresser, quietly sewing as she waited.

"I must say I am surprised, Mistress Ithílwyn. I thought you would take a far longer time in the tub. Well, since you are clean, we had better get you dressed for tonight. Éomer instructed me to leave this dress here for you. I cannot say that I approve of it, as it is too fine a dress for a quiet dinner but a man cannot possibly comprehend the nature of female fashion, and Éomer is a man as a man comes. But he has given such orders, and one must do as they have been told." She said these things in a tone that caused Ithílwyn to wonder if there was something else that she was not pleased about beside the mismatch of the dress and the event it was to be worn to. Nevertheless, Ithílwyn put on new undergarments, although she did not think that Éomer had had them made as they were of neutral tones. She coloured at the thought of Éomer looking over at her undergarments and decided it was safer to believe that he did not know what she looked like beneath the dress. They were made of quality fabric however, and Ithílwyn did not pay much attention to them when Ainsware held up the sheath of scarlet fabric in front of her. Anxiously, she put in on and Ainsware pulled the laces on the corset, adjusting the shape of the dress on the body. Ithílwyn held on to the bedpost tightly and grimaced.

"My apologies, dear girl, but this dress, well," Ainsware sighed and grunted, tugging at the laces one last time (to Ithílwyn's immense relief) before tying them and fanning out the skirts. She soon realised that it was not a modest dress as she stood by the mirror. It exposed her neck, shoulders and a larger part of her back than she would have preferred. The front of her dress skimmed along where her breasts curved outwards and she felt uncomfortable that the bodice of the dress pushed her breast upwards, causing her cleavage to be more pronounced. She was not particularly well endowed, she had seen many women with larger busts than her, but the more distinct shape of her breasts felt altogether unnatural. She tried to hide her discomfort at baring so much skin from Ainsware. It was hard to admit that she could not recognize the woman staring back at her from the looking glass. The colour terrified her. She felt as if she was drowning in the deep red shade of the dress.

"You look lovely dear," Ainsware commented from behind her, smiling. But Ithílwyn knew that it was not an honest smile, nor one of approval. She did not think much of the dress itself, although she was sure that there would be others with features that compliment the dress. Just not her. Ainsware pulled her from the mirror to the dresser and made her sit down while her hair was dried with another towel. She wanted to ask Ainsware what her honest opinion was, because it would be nice to have someone who agreed with her thoughts. But she did not and Ainsware proceeded to fix her hair once it was dried. She sat quietly and obediently while Ainsware twisted and braided and pinned parts of her hair. When the older woman stepped back to admire her work, Ithílwyn could not help but reach out to touch her hair. It was swept up and Ithílwyn could feel her head bearing the weight of her hair, now gathered together in a bun. She was promptly rewarded with a slap on the hand by Ainsware, who shook her head disapprovingly.

"But I," she protested.

"It is hard work, arranging your hair and I refuse to do it twice, Ithílwyn. If it comes undone, I will not aid you, so be careful with it." Ithílwyn nodded and apologised.

Ainsware then pinched her cheeks, causing them to appear rosy. She thought it completely unnecessary as she would be blushing when she laid eyes on Éomer anyway. She would even colour at the mention of his name.

"You may look at your reflection if you like."

"Oh, alright," she murmured, taking slow steps to the mirror, slightly petrified that she might turn into a monster. A scarlet monster with red cheeks. It was not as bad as she had thought after all, she just did not recognize herself. And she wondered how he was to recognize her in this appearance. At least she did not look as if she had just come out from the forest. A sigh escaped her lips.

"We should leave, dear. Come along, I will escort you to the hall," Ainsware said almost sympathetically, taking her arm gently.

She was quite unable to believe that she was in such a predicament and twisted her fingers while blinking more times than she needed to. Still she walked along, as each step brought her nearer to the hall. Her stomach churned and she wanted to break free from Ainsware's grasp and run back to her room. But she did not run, and she did not know if her inaction was born out of courage or fear. Fear to flee or courage to stay. She was soon deposited at the door and Ainsware took her leave. She knocked thrice but was given no reply. Taking in a deep breath, she pressed lightly on the door and pushed it open slowly. Her greatest fear, she supposed, was that he would be disappointed in her. How could he ask her to put on such a dress and not have expectations? She placed one foot inside the hall and poked her head in, looking about for any persons in the hall. There was none, and she felt bold enough to step forth and closed the door behind her. The hall was empty, and she walked ahead, seeing that the table had already been laden with food. There was no light in the hall save two large candles that were set on the table. It did not help soothe her anxiety. She remembered that there was a lamp somewhere beyond, never mind; it was not as if she could see anything in the dim light. She sighed, starting to feel angry that he was putting her through this stressful ordeal. First the vague instructions, then the dress, and now the dimly lighted hall?

"Are you going to stand there the entire night?" she heard some ask from behind her before two strong arms wrapped around her waist. She gasped in shock and she heard him laugh. It was none other than her most despised acquaintance of the moment: the Third Marshal of the Mark.

"You scared me!" she accused.

"My sincerest apologies. But if I may defend myself, I would point out that if you had been seated at the dinner table, then you would not have been put in such a disadvantageous position, and you would not have been frightened." He kissed the base of her neck before she could retort, nibbling on her earlobe lest she should speak. "Let me see you," he murmured softly against the soft skin at her jaw, turning her around slowly. She heard the sharp intake of breath from her counterpart and beamed with relief as well as satisfaction for being able to cause such a reaction from his normally composed exterior. It would seem that she had feared for nothing; he was not in the least displeased at her appearance, and she could stop tormenting her poor fingers. Her discomfort soon grew however, as he stared at her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. He did not speak, and under his gaze she felt naked and exposed. A shiver ran through her spine, and this side of Éomer that she had now seen was not a pleasant one. He looked straight at her and she could not help feeling as if he was going to devour her. His eyes, which had been hazel in the sun light were now dark pools of desire in the faint candlelight.

"Éomer?" she called out in a small voice, scared that he was not conscious of his surroundings. He blinked and cleared his throat, and the Éomer she knew returned.

"You look beautiful," he commented and took her hand to place on his arm as they walked toward the generously spread table. "Forgive me for, uh, looking at you so. I hope I did not cause you to feel any discomfort in any way. If I did, then I apologise," he said, noting that she was silent. He licked his lips, which had gone dry. "It is just that, maybe you should wear other dresses n the future." She cast a raised eyebrow at him as if to say that it was he who ordered her to don the dress. He sighed. "Yes, I admit that I know nothing about women's clothing. How was I to know that the dress would be so, dangerous?"

"Dangerous?" she teased, quite unable to inflict some form of torment upon him as retribution for committing such heinous offences against her.

"You are dangerous. Now do not plague me, I am famished and I understand that you are in the same unfortunate predicament after all that horse riding. Let us quench our hunger, and then we shall proceed."

"Proceed?" she questioned. Éomer merely nodded and smiled wickedly at her. He led her to her seat and they both seated themselves. Ithílwyn's appetite had returned once Éomer poured her some wine and the smell of roast lamb was filtering through her nostrils. He was accurate in his judgment that she was indeed famished, and she busied herself with filling the empty space on her plate with food.

Dinner was not a quiet affair with the two seated across each other. Abundance of food and wine never led to anything good anyways. Ithílwyn had drunk much more wine than she should have and she doubted that Éomer was fully sober although he had drunk three times as much as she had. As was her custom during meals, she launched food at him, who humoured her by picking them up from his lap and stuffing it into her mouth. Not that she complained that she had somehow manipulated him into feeding her. She shovelled food down his mouth as well, laughing when he tried to talk with a mouthful of soggy bread. It was a most harmonious, if not messy, arrangement. She was full of food and laughter and she felt happy and drowsy. So full that she could almost,

"BUUUURRP!"

She burst into childish laughter and Éomer held up his hand in front of her, trying to prove that he could do better. She waited and watched him inhale deeply and swallow. He gulped down a bit of wine and signalled for her to be patient. And then he belched loud enough for the sound to echo off the walls and laughed loudly, thumping his fist on the table till the plates shook. She was impressed and applauded him, laughing till her cheeks felt like bursting, tears leaking out of her eyes. He stood up and bowed, soaking in her cheers. He sat back down as he stripped more meat off the bones of the delicious lamb while she wiped the tears brought on by excessive laughter away. She had eaten so much that she could feel her flesh straining at the tightly bound laces of the bodice

"Well done, my lord," she praised and giggled.

"Why, thank you." He chewed his lamb and winked at her. She drank more wine out of her goblet, feeling slightly dizzy, the world moving about her in a rosy haze. Her body felt unnaturally warm and bubbly. He smiled at her and wiped his dirty fingers on a napkin. He held out his hand and swallowed his food.

"Dance with me?"

She smiled shyly. "I am afraid I do not know how to dance. I mean I have seen people dance, but I have not attempted to," she admitted.

He mock gasped, covering his mouth with his hand. "That is unacceptable news, did you not dance in the forest with the trees and the animals?" She stuck her tongue out at him. "I shall help you with this deficiency, then. I boldly avail my services to thee, and teach you to dance. Will you have me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, daring her to refuse his offer. She hesitated, feeling terribly shy.

"Will you have me or not?" he asked again, standing up abruptly and knocking over a bowl of soup. Ithílwyn burst into laughter at his graceful movement and that allowed him the opportune moment to snatch her arm, bringing her from the table to the middle of the hall. Her laughter died down as he took her hand and placed it on his shoulder. She looked up at him nervously, feeling small in the shadow of his large frame. He was more than a head taller than her, and much wider. Her hand seemed so small on his broad shoulder and she gulped. He tilted her chin to look up at him and he smiled at her reassuringly. He placed a warm hand at the back of her waist, pushing her a little closer to him. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. He took her other hand and clasped it firmly.

"I will lead you, follow my steps. Listen to the music." She was about to ask him where the music was going to come from when he began to hum. It was a traditional tune played at many feasts and weddings when the couples danced together. She was honoured that he was dancing with her and smiled shyly back at him.

"Do you hear it?" he asked.

"Not anymore," she replied cheekily.

"Insolent woman," he chided. "Listen closely now, and follow my footsteps." Humming the tune, he shifted his feet to the left and moved his body along. She followed his movement with uncertainty but she managed to move along with him and smiled at her small achievement. He moved slowly, and she found that she was able to keep up with the slow pace and the low humming tune. She looked at their feet the whole time, hoping she would not trod on his toes. He stopped his humming and pushed her chin upwards.

"Stop looking at your feet," he chided and continued humming, placing his hand on her waist with a tighter grip this time. "Look at me," he persuaded, smiling charmingly at her. Her heart skipped a beat before resuming its normal rhythm at the sight of him. She was about to melt in his arms most unashamedly. "We shall begin again. You are quite good actually, for one who has drunk far too much wine."

"You too," she boldly replied and grinned at him. He shook his head and provided the music for their second dance.

"I think you will be able to cope with a faster pace," he murmured threateningly in her ear and immediately turned around, bringing her with him. She almost stumbled at the sudden change of movement but was able to keep up with his swifter pace. They moved along together to Éomer's quiet humming until she heard him humming a slower tune. He held her closer to him, so close that their lips were barely brushing each other. But he did not kiss her. Instead, he twirled her and this time she was not graceful enough to prevent her from spinning twice and falling on her backside. She blinked at him, almost unbelieving that he had made her fall down on purpose and then she burst out laughing. He smothered his laughter like the gently bred man she knew he was sometimes and tried to pull her up. Only to allow her to pull him down to the floor beside her. He was not amused and he stared at her while she laughed at him, her cheeks as red as the dress. He had, after all, brought it upon himself.

"I do not think you are in the right condition to dance," he commented wryly.

She stopped laughing and breathed in deeply, trying to catch her breath. "Neither do I," she replied as she tried to get her pulse to return to normal. So this was what he meant by an activity which required energy. She wished she had not eaten so much earlier though. She was really tired by now, and she must have broken one of the seams in her dress while she was dancing. Was it time to sleep yet? He brushed the side of her face gently and she turned to him. She smiled at him, glad for his company.

"But you will teach me, will you not? To dance, I mean," she asked and blushed.

"Of course I will," he replies tenderly and smiles back at her. "As often as time permits, whenever you want." She flashes a grin, showing her teeth. He notices her two front teeth are slightly bigger in comparison than the others, and he liked that about her. It was unique, and it was her.

"I am tired Éomer," she admitted in a sleepy voice and laid her head on his shoulder.

"No, Ithílwyn, you cannot be tired now. We have not ended the night yet!"

She stared at him, puzzled. "But I thought we have done everything," she whined. "What else is there left to do?" He slipped his hand under her skirt and squeezed the soft skin of hr thigh lightly. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Ohh..."

Ithílwyn was lifted and carried all the way to his room, which looked similar to hers, except that his was larger and more male. She was not sleepy any more, especially since Éomer jostled her In his arms as he spirited her away from the hall. He shut the door behind him with his hips and set her down on her feet while he bolted the door. All Ithílwyn could see was the dark outline of his furniture. There was no fire in the grate and the curtains were not drawn, refusing moonlight to shine through.

"Wait just a minute," she heard him say as he moved across the room. He seemed to have an accurate knowledge of where his things were in the dark, and she did not hear anything being knocked down to the floor, nor did he stumble on anything. She heard a sound and turned, seeing a few sparks where Éomer's figure was. The light from the sparks were bright enough for her to see the fireplace. He was starting a fire and she went over to him slowly to help him. He needed no help however, and it was not long before there was a cheerful fire crackling away. He smiled at her and washed his hands in a basin as she took note of his room. It was modestly furnished for one of his rank and title. She thought that a Marshal would have more belongings to his name, but Éomer turned out to be a simple man. She smiled at that.

"This is my room," he announced and gestured with a sweeping motion of his arm. "You look like you have something to say," he commented, his lips twitching.

"I think it suits you very well."

"I wonder what you mean by that. Should I receive it as a compliment?" he asked as he drew closer to her and placed both hands on her waist, pressing her closer to him. She blushed at the heat that was seeping into her skin, unable to form the words to answer his question. Glancing around the room, she wracked her mind for an answer. She saw his desk, and the papers and parchments on it, the neat stack of books at the side.

"Merely that, uh, well, it is, urm, purposeful."

"Purposeful? Is that how you perceive me then, a purposeful being?"

"It did not come out the way it was supposed to," she replied. He laughed.

"No one has ever called me purposeful in front of my bed." He smirked at her. "However, I do find the word a perfect description for this very moment." As he whispered the last few words in her ear, he pulled a lock of hair free. When he had finished speaking however, he kissed the skin behind her ear, grazing her earlobe with his teeth. She had nothing to say and stared at him with dazed eyes. He smiled at her and placed a hand at her lower back, expertly untying the laces of her kissed her before she could say a word of weak willed protest. Pressing her against him, she soaked up his warmth and the feel of his muscled frame on her. She raised her arms and placed them around his neck, feeling that familiar stirring of desire. She arched her neck, hoping he would kiss her everywhere.

"I forgot to ask you this, but," he spoke in short pants, kissing her in between words, "did you like your dress?"

"Hmm?" she murmured, her lips brushing against his shoulder, barely aware that he had thrown her bodice on the floor and had pushed the dress down to her waist. He held her breast in his palm, and she could not think clearly with the heat of his hand on her skin. "Ithílwyn?"

"Hmm?" she murmured again, wondering why his hand was not moving. "Oh! Er, yes."

"Was it the colour that caused your dislike?" he asked her, seeing through her rather transparent lie. He looked at her intently.

"The colour was bold, and the dress was cut rather revealingly than what I would have preferred. It is a pretty dress, Éomer, but I cannot wear it. It is not pretty on me," she admitted, looking down.

"No, Ithílwyn, you are mistaken," he turned her head back to him. "I was a fool for asking you to wear such a dress. You must have felt uncomfortable in such an outfit, forgive me. I will ask Ainsware to accompany you to the dressmaker. You can choose your own dresses then. After all, what does a man know about women and their dresses," he scoffed at himself. He let go of her and ran his hand through her hair, retreating to the bedpost as if he needed to think.

"I like the dress, I do. It is the finest dress I have ever worn. I do not want you to think that I do not like it, because I do, I mean, you gave it to me. But I-" she was babbling and he came to her and pressed his forefinger on her lips.

"I know, I know. I have terrible taste in women's clothing. You should have been allowed to pick your own clothing. Do not worry, I have not been offended, in fact I fear you have been offended by my foolishness." He tucked the lock of hair behind her ear and smiled wistfully.

"I thought the dress was too beautiful for someone like me."

"Never," he replied firmly. "You would look beautiful in any dress, you _are_ beautiful. Remember that." She blushed at his flattery and she felt his lips on hers again. His kisses were harder, moving with a passion that was consuming her. He stripped her of her clothing and left it in a pile by the foot of the bed.

"Is this the activity you were talking about?" she mumbled as he lifted her and carried her to the bed. He chuckled as he settled her on the mattress.

"Are you tired? Sleepy? We could stop if you want." She shook her head, her hair beginning to escape from its twists and small braids.

"Good," he replied simply, freeing her hair from its binds. He stared transfixed at the dark locks that cascaded down on his pillows and was startled when she tugged at his breeches. She wondered how he had taken off his shirt without her noticing. He slipped his hand down her thigh, amused at how concentrated her expression was as she tugged at his pants. He felt the amulet that she fastened to her thigh and squeezed his smallest finger in between her skin and the leather cord as she sat up to pull the pants down past his thighs.

"Why do you not wear it?" he asked, tugging at the cord.

"I do not know," she replied simply, smiling triumphantly as he indulged her and kicked his breeches off the bed. "Now you are naked too," she stated and grinned at him. He kissed her nose and her cheek, nuzzling her with his beard. He lowered his head and took her breast in his mouth and sucked gently and she moaned. His fingers untied the cord and slipped the amulet off her leg as he stroked her nipple with his tongue. He had to fight her hands that were pressing his head to her chest as he waved the amulet in front of her before putting it around her neck.

"You should wear it," he suggests, kissing her forehead, adjusting the position of the amethyst so that it nestled between her breasts. Satisfied with that, he turned his attention to her dark hair and burrowed his face in the silky strands, inhaling the fragrant floral sent of her hair.

"I adore your hair," he said in a muffled groan. She tucked her legs behind her back and nestled deeper into the pillows, allowing him to view all of her.

"I adore your hair too," she replied, smiling at him as she snaked her hand down his abdomen, his eyes widening in surprise as she stroked the length of his manhood with a finger. She did not avert her eyes from him and enjoyed watching his reaction. He had been aroused, but now... he groaned and pulled her lips to his, kissing her until her eyes glazed over. He nipped the under skin of her breast as he cupped her soft backside with his hand and squeezed lightly. She gave a soft squeal and reached for his backside. She gasped quietly when she felt the tip of him pressing into her, the sound of her voice providing the fuel to feed his already burning lust for her. She was welcoming him, her entrance moist and warm. He slid himself inside her with a grunt and moved his hips. She moaned and latched her hands on his hips while he thought of other things besides relieving the growing pressure in his groin. He decided to follow her pace and he moved in accordance with her, their hips moving in union, undulating in an ancient rhythm. He gripped the sheets beneath him, cursing inwardly at how desperate he was to release his seed. He could feel her approaching her peak as she moaned his name, and he bent down to rest his head in the crook of her neck, unable to bear the irresistible sight of her moving along with him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as her breaths shortened and her moans rose in pitch.

"Please, please," he begged in short pants, kissing her neck, restraining himself from leaving a conspicuous mark on her skin. In the middle of the overwhelming passion, she felt his finger rubbing at the sensitive nub between her folds and she shouted, finally reaching her peak. She panted, letting the waves of pleasure wash through her body. Her hips were still moving, drawing the last pleasurable sensation from Éomer's hard and rough strokes. He groaned loudly and unsheathed himself, his sweat dripping down on to her. She muffled a protest, feeling bereft without him. She knew what he was doing: emptying his seed elsewhere so that she would not conceive. He fell down onto the bed by her side, his hand draping over her abdomen and a bare leg brushing her thigh. She turned on her side to look at him. He was panting, and his eyes were closed, but he had a faint smile on his lips. She touched the corners of his mouth that turned upwards and he opened his eyes to look at her. She flashed a warm smile at him, her heart bursting with emotion and affection for the man in whose bed she was lying. Brushing his blond hair aside, she stared deep into his eyes and saw her own reflection in his eyes.

"Come here," he said, pulling her closer to him. He put an arm around her and pressed a kiss to her sweaty brow. He pulled the blanket over them and smiled when she curled her head under his chin. "I am glad I did not go to sleep," she confessed and he laughed, his chest rumbling.

"Me too. But you must sleep now," he chided, his thumb running small circular patterns on the skin of her hip. She stroked the fine hairs at his chest and sighed contentedly. "I take it that you enjoyed what I had planned for you."

"Yes," she replied in a small voice and stifled a yawned.

"Good," he whispered and felt her slip her leg in between his. "Goodnight, beautiful."

* * *

**Okay, I have to admit that I am not particularly satisfied with this chapter, so if you have any comments or anything, I would love to hear it. Also, i know there is a cliche with the part of them dancing, but yeah, that's why I'm not too pleased with this chapter. Also I am aware that I wrote one chapter for one night. But no worries, the next chapter will be sped up, like finally, and though we will not get much of everyone's favourite horselord till Chap 17, it will be a long one. **

**And I know it may seem like Éomer is a jerk, please do not hold it against him. You will have to wait to know more about the whole dress thing. Thanks for reading and I shall see you in the next chapter.**


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